As the vision of Michael fades, I look up and realize that the guards haven’t even bothered to close the door. I can see the elbow of one of the guards, but even if he wasn’t there, they know I’m not a flight risk. Besides, it appears the door is open because I’m about to have visitors.
The doctor enters first, followed by Garai and Henry. The doctor’s face shows his concern, as he does all of the ancient doctor things like shining a light in my eyes and feeling my pulse.
“Will he live long enough to star in tomorrow’s finale?” Henry asks.
“He definitely has a concussion; but the cuts and bruising on his face are largely superficial. His biggest problem is the lack of food and water, but that won’t kill him in the next twenty-four hours. If you want him to be awake tomorrow, I would suggest you give him a liter or more of water - just to be on the safe side,” the doctor replies.
“Thank you, doctor. You may leave.”
“Your turn, Garai,” Henry says. “Be quick.”
Garai gets down low, where he can look into my eyes. I notice he’s dressed in a much finer suit than I’ve ever seen him wear before, and that it’s made of synthetic materials, rather than linen.
“Cephas? Can you hear me?” Garai asks.
“Hello, Judas,” I reply hoarsely.
At first, he appears to be assessing if I’m hallucinating; but when Henry laughs, Garai figures out that I’m insulting him.
“You should have a little more respect for the man who accomplished everything you should have aspired to do,” Garai says. “When your show ends, tomorrow, mine will begin. The New Christians will be following me into a new era.”
“New Christians? Tell me, Garai: what do you and your new Christians believe? More accurately, what has Henry told you that you’re allowed to believe? Do you believe Christ was the Son of God and that He died for our sins and rose from the dead? Or has Christ been watered down to being just a really nice guy in a white suit?”
The look on his face tells me the answer. Whatever the new “Faith guide” teaches, it’s not belief in Christ. It’s most likely some sort of twisting of Christ’s message in order to reach the conclusion man is supreme.
“What we believe is that we will be alive - and you will be dead,” he says, “- or at least most of us. Thanks to you, I’m losing ten percent of my membership because they refuse to take the vaccine. Their deaths are on your head.”
“Then you believed in preaching for the sake of preaching itself, and not in the message being delivered,” I say.
Garai begins to respond, but Henry cuts him off.
“Your big moment is tomorrow, Garai,” Henry says. “Leave us, and close the door behind you.”
Once Garai is gone, Henry starts laughing.
“Even beaten to the edge of your life, your mind is still sharper than Garai’s. How I wish you could have been broken; but your eyes tell me that it isn’t going to happen.”
“So now what? Kill me on a live broadcast?” I ask.
“You’ll find out tomorrow,” Henry says. “But I would like to say that I never wanted to martyr you. I always hoped to break you, and make you a leading atheist.”
“I was a leading atheist: The Cult Hunter. Remember?”
“It’s too late to dream about the good old days, Cephas.”
Henry laughs again.
“One problem with atheism is that it takes too much work,” I say. “When you look at a beautiful sunset, you have to waste your time justifying weather patterns, sun angles, and the particulates in the air, when you could be simply enjoying the hand of God, and smiling up at Him - thanking Him - for putting on a good show. Butterflies; drops of dew sparkling in the sun; unexpectedly hearing from an old friend; you atheists make them all into such a chore for yourself.”
“So, it’s just like your old mentor, Dr. Holt said: religion is a sign of laziness?” Henry asks.
“Saying faith is akin to laziness is like saying the pursuit of science is akin to cowardice,” I reply. “Maybe you spend all that time measuring the angles of a sunset, or the air displaced when a butterfly flaps its wings, so you can avoid asking yourself the really tough questions. Faith is about searching, and solving puzzles, without being afraid of the answer you’ll find. You fear the true answer, Henry. You’re afraid that you’re not the one in control. Some would say admitting to the authority of God is a coward’s way to view life; but I’d say it takes more courage.”
From inside his jacket pocket, Henry produces a container with a dozen blackberries in it, and tosses it to me. Eyeing him warily, I open it and put the first berry on my tongue; then crush it against the roof of my mouth. I close my eyes and sigh, as the little packets burst in my mouth and the juice trickles into my throat.
“Does it really matter so much, Henry?” I ask. “Are these berries a product of evolution? Are they adapted to be sweet to tempt birds and rodents, ensuring the survival of their genes when their seeds are disbursed here and there? Or were they simply put here by God for all of us to enjoy? Right now, they taste like a gift from heaven.”
Henry and I lock eyes for a long while - until he breaks the stare, shakes his head, and turns to leave.
“It’s all true, Henry. Jesus is the Son of God.”
I say it to his back, and Henry stops.
“I know. I just don’t care,” he replies, without turning around.
“One liter of water,” he barks at the guard, and disappears.
*****
I drink the liter slowly, making sure not a single drop is spilled. I could portion it out over my remaining hours; but my body needs every drop now, so I drink it all. Perhaps by some mercy, I’ll get another liter later.
The screen is turned back on, and I can see that tomorrow is being advertised worldwide as the final “debate” between myself and Henry. The entire world is expected to watch to see my fate - just as they did with the Travelers Initiative.
Given that I have a concussion, I should try to stay awake, but my eye lids are just too heavy to fight sleep. Besides, I know my body has the best chance to heal when it’s sleeping. Unfortunately, turning off my brain is nearly impossible; so for the next twelve hours, I slip in and out of consciousness that’s filled with dreams of more torture.
Somehow I’m not surprised when my eyes open to yet another vision. Like before, I’m still in my cell. I’m lying on my back, with my shoulders on a rough wooden cross that’s digging into the welts that cover my back. My arms are outstretched, waiting to be nailed into place, but nobody is holding them down.
My head rolls to my shoulder and I look out across the room. Next to me, on His own wooden beam, is Christ, who is staring into my eyes and smiling. A single Roman soldier is kneeling with his back to me, preparing the first spike and his hammer.
“Have I failed you, Lord?” I ask Jesus. “Am I the sinner to be nailed to the cross beside you?”
“No, Cephas. You haven’t failed me. I’m so very proud of you. But you must make the choice you’ve been putting off for all this time. This man has only three nails. He can only nail one of us to a cross, and you need to choose which of us it will be,” Jesus says. “You can lie there and let yourself be nailed … or you can stand up.”
The Roman turns and I finally see his face. It’s me. I’m both here on the cross and the Roman soldier at the same time. The “soldier-me” smiles wickedly and stands between us, holding the nails from my blacksmith dream, waiting for me to make my choice.
“You forge strong nails,” the soldier-me says. “But then, who doesn’t these days?”
“Stand up, Cephas,” Jesus says again. “Choose freedom from sin.”
When I stand, the soldier-me smiles, and holds out the hammer and nails for me to take; then disappears.
I’m alone with Christ, with the hammer and nails in my hands. I look down at the nail which has the glowing “C,” “H” and “S” from my blacksmith dream. As I stare at the nail, the letters space themselves differently and the rest of the letters fill in to spell “CEPHAS” - rather than “CHRIST” - as I had expected them to. I let out a shriek.
“Whose name were you expecting on the nails, Cephas?”
Jesus laughs.
“It’s your sins that nail me to the cross, after all.”
“I can’t,” I say.
“Do you remember what you thought when you realized you could look me in the eyes, as I hung on the cross? You thought that maybe my death was supposed to be up close and personal. What could possibly be more personal than using a nail with your name written on it? Those nails are your sins, Cephas; and now is when you’re finally going to turn them over to me.”
I look again at the nail in my hand. He’s correct, of course. I’ve never fully handed my sins over to Him. I look at the scars on my own wrists.
“I don’t take your scars any more lightly than I do my own, Cephas.”
Jesus smiles.
“Just below the wrist,” He says. “You’ve seen it twice; so you know the spot.”
“I don’t want to do it,” I say.
“I hope you haven’t forgotten that nobody takes a hit for others better than I do. It’ll be okay, Cephas. Trust me. Whatever it is that pains you, nail it to the cross. All the best sins are hammered here: greed, envy, pride, hatred…”
I look Him in the eyes, and He continues the list just for me.
“… murder, lust.”
He’s speaking directly to my memories - and my soul.
“I don’t want to do it,” I repeat.
“You have to, Cephas. It’s the only way you can free yourself of it,” Jesus replies. “Now nail your sins to the cross.”
I bring the hammer down ever so lightly, it makes barely a sound on the top of the nail.
“That’s no way to attach sin to the cross, Cephas. You must hammer it like you love me.”
I take a deep breath, focusing my eyes on the head of the nail, and swing the hammer with all the love I feel for Him. It rings hard and true, and drives through Jesus and into the wood.
“Yes!” Jesus says. “That’s how you hammer sin. Hammer it with love. Now, the other arm.”
I take the second nail with my name on it, and I hammer it home with love. I’m crying with pain, love, and freedom - all at the same time.
“Good. Now stand for me, Cephas. Stand up in the light.”
*****
I awaken with a jolt. I’m standing inside my cell, looking down at an empty floor. I fall to my knees and weep. I want to vomit all the precious water in my stomach, but manage to hold onto it. My sins nailed Christ to the cross, as much as anyone’s, and I hate the thought of it. We all hate to be reminded of this simple fact, which is why our world chooses to bury itself in sex and drugs. It’s easier than facing the truth of the choices we make.
I remember Christ telling me to stand; so I rise back to my feet. I’m dizzy and have a splitting headache - presumably from the concussion - but I’m standing.
The screen springs to life. It’s nine o’clock. The screen contains a message from Garai to his “New Christian” followers that there will be a live special presentation just prior to the “final debate” between Henry and myself.
The guard brings me two salted crackers, a small glass of water, and an apple, which I’m sure Henry regards as a wonderful joke. I don’t know why I’m being shown this sudden kindness, but I’m more than ready to thank God for it, and accept the gifts. I scrape the salt off the crackers to avoid further feelings of dehydration, and eat them. Then I eat every bit of the apple, including the seeds. If it still had a stem and leaf attached, I’d eat those too.
The door opens at precisely nine-fifty and the guards command me to follow them. I’m walking better now, so we again reach the stage with time to spare. As usual, I hold my arms up to be shackled; but today the guards tell me to just stand still between the posts.
Garai is already on the set, sitting in one of two comfortable chairs. He’s wearing even more expensive clothing than yesterday, as well as a gold necklace and gold rings. My jaw drops when he removes the jacket and a stagehand brings him a long, white linen robe. I’ve seen pictures of similar robes. They were last worn by men called bishops.
“How dare you?” I ask.
“We’ve each gotten no less than we deserve, Cephas. You must see that,” he replies.
Before I can answer, Henry rushes onto the set.
“Perfect, Garai. Just perfect.” Henry says. “This is going to be great.”
“Cephas? If you promise to behave yourself, you don’t have to be chained today,” Henry says to me.
He doesn’t want you to behave yourself. He wants you to attack Garai and demonstrate to the world how religions hate. He gave you food and water to strengthen you for that purpose. Let God use that strength for His purpose instead.
The cameras and lights come to life. The viewer count is at two point seven billion people. Effectively, the entire world is watching.
“Hello, everyone!”
Henry is virtually singing.
“And I do mean everyone. This is the second largest video audience in history - second only to the departure of the Travelers. Today we have here in the studio Garai, the leader of the New Christian movement, and - of course - Cephas. You two are old friends, aren’t you, Garai?”
“I’m not sure ‘friends’ is the right word, but yes,” Garai says. “Cephas and I worked together. He as a part of the organization ‘Four,’ and me as the head of my organization. Although we didn’t get along, I must thank Cephas for teaching me about the mistakes religion has made over many centuries, including through his own example. My organization hopes to correct all of those mistakes and move forward into a new era of faith that will be embraced by all mankind. We can’t afford any more failures like those we’ve seen from Cephas.”
“Wow. That’s a bold vision, Garai,” Henry says. “Cephas? Anything to say in response?”
The guards visibly back off. They’re intentionally giving me an opening to strike Garai.
When I bow my head in prayer, Henry misinterprets the move as me attempting to control my anger.
“Garai, would you do us the favor of chaining Cephas today?” Henry asks. “I think it would be symbolic of your victory -, and Cephas’ failure.”
More provoking? Henry really wants me to strike Garai. I mustn’t follow Henry’s script.
Garai approaches and the guards take another step back. Henry has a blood lust in his eyes as he watches the scene unfold. I outstretch my arms forward. My fingertips are only centimeters from Garai’s neck. With one easy lunge, and I could choke him, though as weak as I am, I doubt I could kill him before the guards would stop me - assuming they’ve even been instructed to stop me. Instead, I set my hands lightly on his shoulders.
“Bless you, Garai. You are indeed playing a role in God’s plan for a fresh start.”
Your fate is already sealed, Garai - but it won’t be by my hands.
Even without bandages dried into the cuts, opening my arms wide is painful, but I again bear the painful motion until my wrists are against the posts - then nod my permission to be shackled.
Henry is angry beyond words at the development.
The cuff on my left wrist appears to be broken, it won’t fasten as tightly as it should. I could easily slip my wrist out of it. I notice the guard on that side is watching me as I look at the cuff. Letting me slip free at the right moment must be Henry’s backup plan.
“As everyone can see, Cephas didn’t like the crown we gave him. But we still have his scepter and - of course - the flail. Garai, would you once again do the honors?” Henry asks.
The heavy stick that served as my ‘scepter’ is placed where I can easily reach it if I were to free my left wrist.
The robe is stripped from my back, and I can see on the screen that the wounds are still red and raw. Garai is handed the flail. He begins to take off the white robe; but Henry waves that he must keep it on. Henry has the shot set up exactly how he wants it. From his perspective, this is one religious nut whipping another.
The first strike lands weakly, but still hurts on my damaged skin.
“Harder!” Henry says. “Whip him like a New Christian.”
The second strike is much harder and connects where the earlier damage was deepest. The pain, combined with the concussion, makes my knees start to buckle; but I manage to stand through the third, fourth, and fifth strikes before I fall. I’m falling as Garai tries to land the sixth lash, so the leather thongs hit my neck and wrap around the side of my head and face, reopening the wounds from my ‘crown.’ The force of the fall causes my left wrist to slip free of the cuff and - as luck would have it - my hand lands squarely on the scepter stick. My fingers instinctively curl around it.
Choose your next action wisely, Cephas.
“Again! Hit him while he’s on the floor.”
Henry is trying to egg him on, though he doesn’t need to do so. Garai is in full frenzy all by himself.
“For decades, I built my organization in the shadows, and my family worked for decades before I was even born,” Garai says. “Then you came along … and in days they were all ready to leave and follow you. After everything I did for them…”
Garai is screaming at my back, as he lands another blow.
I look up at Garai. The flail is raised above his head, and he too has eyes filled with a lust for violence. The whipping has opened the old wounds on my back. They must be bleeding, because his perfectly white robe is now spattered with my blood. Henry has a look of pure joy at the way the scene has played out.
My hand is on the stick. I could sweep Garai’s feet out from under him and, once he’s down, use the stick to crush his neck. I’m sure the guards will just watch.
I uncurl my fingers from the stick; then slowly stand and raise my left hand to the post so it can be shackled again. The guards don’t bother, so I hold the cuff with my fingers, to willingly shackle myself.
I am a prisoner for Christ.
I’d hoped this act would take the wind out of Garai’s sails; but he whips me - again and again - until my knees buckle from the pain.
“I am done casting my pearls before swine!” Garai says.
“How lucky,” I reply, as I raise myself back to my knees.
“Lucky?”
“Without pearls to cast, your hand will be free to work that log out of your eye.”
He crosses in front of me, and gets into my face.
“Enough of the whip. I’m going to do something that will torture you even more,” Garai says.
He reaches into his pocket and brings out a small tablet.
“This tablet contains the vaccine you need if you want to survive the plague,” Garai says. “I have one and you don’t. You don’t have one; the members of Four don’t have one; and most importantly, your precious Martha doesn’t have one. She is going to die, Cephas, and it isn’t going to be an easy death. She is going to suffer. She is going to writhe in pain for days, until she is begging for death to take her. And if I can get a video of it, I’m going to play it over and over, and make you watch it - until you beg to join her.”
“If you think your salvation can be found in that pill, then take it,” I say.
His eyes go wide with anger, and he places the tablet under his tongue, where it will quickly dissolve.
“Does it taste like apple?” I ask.
I struggle back to my feet, and again grab the broken cuff.
“It tastes like new life.”
He smirks as he says it, but his eyes say otherwise. He lets out a groan and grabs at his stomach. There’s a slight foam at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes are wide with pain. He tries to speak, but can’t get anything to come out. He drops to his knees, but stays there for only a moment before he hits the floor, where he rolls onto his back and begins to shake. With the cameras documenting the scene for the entire world to see, he coughs up some foamy saliva - and dies at my feet. All the while, I leave my left hand up at the post - unshackled.
“There’s no better way to kill a snake than to cut off its head,” Henry says.
He turns to me.
“Is that in the Bible?”
I simply shake my head ‘no.’
“It probably should be,” Henry says. “It’s good practical human advice after all. I’ll make sure it gets into the New Christian Faith guide.”
Henry turns to the camera.
“Well, I for one think Garai did an excellent job of demonstrating how religion brings anger and hatred into our world; but, of course, he isn’t the star of the show. Our star is Cephas.”
The camera goes to a tight shot on me, while the guards drag Garai’s body offstage and fasten my left arm securely to the post - all unseen by the audience. My hair is caked with blood and sweat. There’s still blood trickling down my face from where Garai missed with the whip and tore open the facial wounds from the yesterday’s crown and scepter treatment. Despite receiving some water last night and today, my lips are still dry, cracked and bleeding from dehydration. All in all, I judge myself to appear on the edge of insanity - except for my eyes. Didn’t Jocie once tell me that I need to stare into my own eyes, and assess my own soul, once in a while? I stare into my own eyes via the camera. My sins have been nailed to the cross, I’m ready to do whatever is asked of me.
Everything I am is yours, Lord. I’m ready to finish this.