Chapter 12
From my internal Vatican source, I know that the clone met with the Pope that evening. It was a quiet and secretive meeting. Only a few knew about it. I am indebted to my friend within the Vatican. I don’t give a name and I can’t give a name. For information comes to me in a variety of ways. Before it was letters or calls from another person. Once I was in my “safe house” in the California dissenter's center, e-mail was sent via a variety of links. It was impossible to trace me. I received this letter through a friend. It was lengthy and detailed.
“Dear Dr. MacDonald,
I once again raise my pen to write you. I know that you haven’t decided to release all that you know at this time. You are the only one who holds most of the keys to this religious puzzle. I think you need this piece as well.
Jesus begged for an audience with the Pope. The Holy Father struggled with the idea of legitimizing the clone by a public meeting. He agreed to a quiet, clandestine, evening meeting. He did not want his staff to know about it. Only a few of us were aware of its occurrence.
Jesus was very warm and I was shocked by his conversation. What he said, so impressed me that it was imbedded in my mind. After the handshake and hug, the Messiah sat down across from the Pope and said candidly, “For over thirty years you have struggled against my existence. I can understand that. It is a hard thing to understand why and how I exist. I’m not sure that I have all the pieces myself. All I know is that I am truly Jesus. These are the legs of Jesus and the body of Jesus. My brain has the same capacity. I am created from DNA drawn from my own blood. That blood came from an Immaculate Conception. I am not like other people.
“I want to know why you reject me and turn me away. I want us to work together to bring world peace, to bring prosperity back to this world.”
The Holy Father was quiet for a few moments. I imagine he had to think about what was said. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled it over his words. “You have assessed correctly. I believe you do have the body of Jesus but I feel as if there is something missing. Some special quality that only a true messiah would have.”
The Messiah stared at the Pope. It was a very uncomfortable silence before he spoke, “I need to talk with you openly and honestly. May I do that?”
“The Messiah could do nothing else,” the Holy Father responded.
“Since my birth, I’ve been tossed into the bright lights of the media. I’ve been trained to think like, act like, talk like and be like a messiah that no one has ever met. I have memorized the entire Old and New Testaments. All this I’ve done but somehow I feel as if there is something missing in my life,” Jesus said to the Pontiff.
The Vicar of Christ stood up from his chair. In all their conversations, Jesus had never been so vulnerable. The Pope took three steps back from his chair and turned to gaze out the window. With another draw of breath, he spoke to Jesus, “What do you think is missing?”
“I’m not sure. Could I ask His Holiness a question?”
“Yes, please.”
“How well do you know Bishop Russo?” Jesus asked.
The question was so unusual that it turned the Pontiff’s head quickly toward Jesus. He waited a second to respond. “We have been in contact for over thirty-five years. He is very driven and very directed towards the goals that you have set forth.”
“You’ve just hit it. I’m not the one setting the goals. They are.”
The Pope asked, “Who is this they? Are you referring to Thompson the Prophet and the Bishop?”
“Yes I am. I feel as if they have been in control of the ministry that I’ve been sent to this earth to accomplish,” Jesus was emphatic.
The Pope again sat across from the clone. He leaned forward and touched Jesus’ hand. “What is this mission and who has sent you?”
“My Father and your Father has sent me. I’ve come so people might have life and have it more abundantly,” he said then paused before finishing his statement. “I’ve come to finish what I started over two thousand years ago. I’ve come to bring peace and prosperity to this world.”
“So, you truly believe you are the Messiah?” the Vicar asked almost stunned.
“Yes, I am the Messiah. I have come tonight to make peace with you and to help you see that I am the I am. How can I assure you of my genuineness?”
“Your candidness has helped me. Since the beginning, I’ve felt as if Thompson and Russo had misdirected you. I want our relationship to be closer but I don’t trust your friends. I would like to suggest that we gather each day for prayer. Through our time alone with our Father, we will grow closer together,” the Holy Father said.
“Thank you. This has been better than I could have prayed for. May I ask for another favor from His Holiness?”
“Yes, I want us to grow to count on one another.”
The clone reached into a bag sitting next to him on the floor. He pulled from it a small vial of wine and circle of bread about two inches across. He laid them before the Pontiff and spoke, “Would you take the Holy Eucharist with me?”
The Vicar’s face broke with a broad smile, “Oh, yes. I would like that.”
Jesus took the bread and he broke it, blessed it and said, “Take. Eat. For this is my body.”
He gave a piece to the Pope and kept the remainder in his hand. They both lifted the morsel to their mouths and ate.
Jesus then took the small vial of wine and held it up above both of their heads. “Take it and drink for this is my blood.” He offered the vial to the Pontiff. The old man drank from the vial and gave it back to Jesus. The messiah capped the vial and returned it to this bag.
“Are you not going to drink with me?” the Pope asked.
“I cannot. For I said in my last visitation to this earth that I would not drink of it again until I partake at the Great Wedding Feast in Heaven along with the eleven men who walked the roads of Galilee with me. You understand, don’t you?” Jesus warmly smiled as he spoke.
“Oh, yes. I can’t believe that I forgot your promise to your disciples. Yes, yes, taking the bread is enough. I am honored by that,” the Pope told him. Then Vicar yawned and said that he needed to sleep.
Jesus reached down and pulled his small bag up to him. “Good night. I will look forward to our daily time of prayer.”
The Pontiff was already walking towards his bedroom. “So am I. I am sorry but at my age, sleep is greatly needed. Please, excuse me.”
At that moment a grayness drifted into the filling it like a gigantic shadow laying it’s murky, thick foam over the floor. Jesus exited and I know little else about that meeting. I do hope what I’ve written has helped.
Signed,
Faithful
These bits of information would mean little except that the next morning brought panic to the Vatican. A nun assigned to serve the Pontiff, would awaken him each morning with a cup of fine Italian coffee. He liked it black. The Pope’s head would hang over his Bible as he sought God’s guidance for the day and for Holy Roman Catholic Church. He rose early and he rose quickly like a man that relished each new day with his Lord and God. That morning was quite different.
The nun would knock on the door and then enter setting the Pontiff’s cup on the ancient mahogany desk in the corner of the room. He would give a kind and soft “thank you” as she departed and went on her other duties. That morning, she placed the cup on the desk and turned to leave. Silence. Nothing was heard. He didn’t speak. She turned towards him. The covers were strewn across the bed as if the night was spent in a struggle. The peaceful face was replaced by twisted agony on the mouth and deep furrows frozen on the brow. She gasped and ran from the room.
“Father Witowski, come quick. There is something wrong with the Holy Father,” she yelled as she pounded on the assistant’s thick wooden door. Witowski stumbled from his bed and opened the door to see the Sister’s worried face staring at him.
“What is it, sister,” he croaked out in his best early morning voice.
“I took the Holy Father his coffee, as is our ritual each morning. He usually greets me pleasantly and I leave. This morning he said nothing. So, I took a few steps closer. His face has a painful, twisted look on it. Please, come quickly.”
They raced down the hall. The noise and voices awoke the others who resided along the passageway. Sensing a serious condition, they bolted through their doorways and followed along the marble floored hall. Father Witowski arrived first. He prayed that he would be like the Apostle Peter and enter the room to find his master not there or that he would see him sitting at his desk deep in study.
As the door opened, the Pontiff still laid as the nun had left him but his face twitched in anquished contortions. His coffee sat steaming on the desk but no one hovered over it. Father Witowski knew then that the Pope had not passed into the Kingdom of Light. There were signs that the Pope was still alive but what was occurring in the brain seemed evil. He turned to the others standing behind him. “Please, stand back. Give me a moment to see what the situation is. I believe his holiness is still alive. Please, alert the doctor,” he begged the others and then turned to enter the room. The nun was with him.
“Is this how you left him?” he asked Witkowski whispered.
“Yes, Father. This is exactly how I left him,” she answered.
“His face is still contorting. There is a sign of life but I'm not hopeful. Pray, sister!” he said aloud to her as he thought through the situation before him. The contortions on the Pontiff's face bewildered him. “Sister, what would cause what we see? I’ve seen strokes before, I’ve seen seizures before but I have never seen this. It’s as if he is struggling against an unseen enemy.”
“I think he was visited by something evil,” she answered as her hands crossed her body in the sign of the cross. She was so close to the truth.
To Witkowski's rational mind, the one thing that brought him to the Vatican, it looked like His Holiness had fought a good fight but lost. Something, someone, some being, some unseen evil had been the victor and to the victor belonged the spoils.