Dark Resurrection

by Frederick Preston

  * * *

  Jesus Christ still had scores to settle, fires of revenge burning within his tormented mind. Awakening the following evening, he told Mary of his intent to destroy his disciples. “Judas Iscariot’s the one I really want,” he said, his eyes narrowed in contempt, “I’ve disposed of Peter, but I have to get that traitorous Judas. He’s worse than Peter ever was and he must not escape me.”

  “Why’d you kill Peter, I thought he was your friend.”

  “He was my friend, but he denied me three times.”

  “You actually killed him for that?”

  “Maybe I did screw up there woman, but I was rather angry that night.”

  “And you’re not angry now?” asked Mary, stifling a laugh, looking to her frowning consort.

  “I am to a degree, but I must dispose of friend Judas nevertheless,” said Jesus, realizing his slaughter of Peter was perhaps unjustified.

  “You’ll get him, he was hanging around the Temple the past few days before you turned me,” Mary replied, not pressing further regarding Peter. “I imagine he’s looking for more money. John told me Saturday that Judas plans to sell out Lucius the Christ next, for 60 pieces of silver.”

  Only in the game for lucre and earthy glory, the cynical, traitorous Judas Iscariot had been paid off amply by the high priests in Tyrian tetradrachmae to betray his innocent friend Jesus, the amount given him considered a small fortune in those days.

  “What an asshole,” said Jesus, slipping into his vampire voice, “Lucius Christ is a liar and charlatan, I’m the real Christ, and that bastard Judas sold me out for only 30 pieces of silver!”

  “Brother John said the same thing.”

  “John is a good man; I’ll spare him,” Jesus declared, disguising his voice.

  “The other disciples believed in you too,” said Mary, hoping to blunt his maniacal desire for vengeance.

  “Thomas doesn’t anymore.”

  “Who cares, lots of people don’t believe in you – you can't kill them all.”

  “Quite true, but I must destroy Judas Iscariot.”

  “I agree,” said Mary, “He deserves it; incidentally, do you have any idea where he’s been spending most of his time since betraying you?”

  “Not really, considering I was dead until recently. I suppose he's living high in the saddle, letting all that blood money burn a hole in his pocket.”

  “You guessed part of it, but get this, he’s spent a lot of it at a brothel I used to work at.”

  “He used it to buy whores?”

  “Yes.”

  “What vermin he is, verily I say, I never trusted him; Judas is as slippery as a bucket of eels,” said Jesus, his accent returning.

  “Jesus, your voice.”

  “Of course, thank you Mary,” said Jesus, disguising his voice.

  Leaving the cemetery, they headed into the cool spring night in search of Judas Iscariot. Arriving at the brothel entrance, Jesus noted business was brisk; the place was packed. By torchlight, pictures painted on the walls in brilliant colors graphically illustrated the services provided and the cost of each in Roman currency.

  “You’ll have to wait friend,” said a pimp at the door, holding up hands. “All the girls are busy with other customers.”

  “I’m not looking for a girl,” Jesus replied.

  “Oh,” said the smirking pimp, “We don’t do that here, but my brother Ephraim on the next block –”

  Dear Jesus, do you have a lot to learn, thought Mary, stifling a sudden fit of giggles his innocence had incurred.

  Jesus ignored the insult and said, “No sir, I'm not looking for men either. As you can see I have my woman, I’m looking for a friend that frequents here.”

  “Sorry, what’s the name?” the pimp asked.

  “Judas Iscariot.”

  “I know him, he’s in back,” said the pimp, pointing the way with a jerk of a thumb, pleased that Judas was telling friends about the expert abilities of the ladies in his charge.

  “Take me to him.”

  “Perhaps we should wait till he’s finished with Adria,” said the pimp, not wanting to lose business, after all, a patron would not return to his brothel if he didn’t get his money’s worth.

  “That won’t do, take me to him now,” Jesus ordered, staring into the pimp’s eyes. The entranced pimp obediently led them to the rear of the brothel.

  “You do that well,” Mary whispered into his ear, “Will you teach me?”

  “You’ll learn in time.”

  The pimp stopped at a door, pointed, and walked away.

  “What do we do now?” asked Mary.

  “Watch, I intend to have fun with this guy.”

  “Yeah, but I'm getting hungry.”

  “Take the whore after we enter, but leave Judas to me.”

  “Okay.”

  The sounds of sexual pleasure were coming from the small room, the voice clearly that of Judas Iscariot. Jesus pushed the door down with one arm and entered, standing on the broken door. Judas turned and leapt from the sheets, leaving a frightened Adria naked on the bed.

  Mary moved for the whore, Jesus blocking her path. “Hold on girl, you'll get her in a minute.”

  “Jesus!” a terrified Judas cried, beholding the risen Son of Man.

  “In the flesh.”

  “Master, I can explain,” said Judas.

  “That would prove interesting my friend, but I don’t feel there is any need,” Jesus replied.

  Always a liar, the treacherous Judas was trying to buy time, moving for a sharp dagger concealed in his robe. He found it, pulled it out and plunged it deep into the vampiric Christ’s chest, waiting to run after he fell. To Judas’ surprise, Jesus smiled and pulled the 8-inch dagger from his chest, dropping it to the floor.

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” retorted Jesus, chuckling at the horrified Judas. Turning from him, he looked to the naked whore, and said in his accented voice, “Take her Mary, we have other things to do!”

  The Magdalene moved like lightning, plunging fangs deep and sucking her dry in seconds.

  “Come, my friend Judas,” ordered Jesus, having entranced his betrayer during his consort’s attack. Judas, wishing he could resist, obeyed. He led Judas and Mary from the brothel, out of the city and into the countryside near their sepulchre. Like a zombie, Jesus stood the betrayer near a stunted olive tree, sitting down on a stone with the Magdalene.

  “What are you going to do with him?” she asked, hands folded in her lap.

  “I haven't decided, but it’s definitely going to be painful.”

  “Why not hang him?”

  “No, that’s much too easy, besides, we haven’t any rope.”

  “How about torturing him to death, that’s a good idea isn't it?”

  “Perhaps,” Jesus answered, staring at his terrified victim.

  “You know,” said the Magdalene, “When I was a whore, Judas beat the hell out of me at the brothel one day. When he’s drunk he has a mean streak toward women, he really got a kick out of beating my head against a wall.”

  “Really? Then perhaps you should beat his head against that tree. After all, is it not written, even from the time of Hammurabi: An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth?”

  “But I thought you wanted to kill him.”

  “You can kill him if you like, I don’t care, just do it slowly,” said Jesus with a wave of a hand. She headed to the olive tree, intending to beat the traitor’s skull against its thick trunk.

  “Why are you doing that?” asked Jesus, Mary reaching for Judas’ head.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, confused by his question, her hand held high, stopped before she could grab a handful of hair.

  “Use your mind; make him beat his head against the tree. I’ll release him to you so yo
u can try it.”

  “We can do that?” she asked, walking over and sitting on the stone, ready to learn from her undead rabbi.

  “With practice, give it a try; you seem more vicious than I am anyway.”

  Mary concentrated and found her entrancement power came easily. She forced Judas to slam his head against the tree until he was nearly unconscious, his face and scalp a bloody pulp. Satisfied with his consort’s talent at torture, Jesus walked over to Judas. He ran a finger across the blood-covered forehead and put it in his mouth, enjoying the taste. He lifted the tortured body with one arm, raising his betrayer into the air.

  “You greedy bastard,” Jesus spat in his vampiric accent, “Verily I say, those like you make our people look bad! You sold me out, fornicating in a brothel as they crucified me!” The terrified Judas, weak and with a severe concussion, was unable to say anything in defense, even if he had been able to think of one, his forced delirium numbing the pain somewhat. Disgusted, he dropped Judas to the ground in a crumpled heap.

  “Is he dead?” asked Mary.

  “Not yet, but I’m sure he wishes he was,” said Jesus, walking to the stone and sitting down.

  “Can we make him make him beat his head some more or is he too tired to do that?”

  “Tired or not, we could make him beat his head against that tree until he died from the blows, but I think the whole affair is getting boring,” a chuckling Jesus replied.

  “What else can we make him do?” asked Mary, lying on her side on the large stone, resting her head on her right arm.

  “Anything as long as he’s alive, it’s as if he were a puppet.”

  “Can I make him dance?”

  “Easily, but what will that accomplish?”

  The Magdalene smiled. “Okay, can I make him walk off that cliff?”

  “Sure, why not, we need to get rid of him, go ahead.”

  Mary concentrated, spoke words of command, and incredibly, Judas rose to his feet, terrified. Turning, he walked off a 100-foot cliff to his death, the broken body bouncing off the rocks below, landing lifeless in a crumpled heap next to a stream.

  Satisfied in his revenge, Jesus said, “I’ll be back in a minute woman, there’s no point in wasting good blood.” Assuming the form of a bat, he flew down the cliff and sucked the warm corpse dry.

  Returning, he took human form, Mary exclaiming as she beheld the transformation, “I didn’t know we could do that!”

  “It comes in handy, don’t you think?”

  “How did you do it?”

  “The same way I do anything else, by concentrating - give it a try.”

  Mary concentrated and assumed chiropteric form, flitting about the cemetery, alighting on the stone and returning to human form. “That was easy.”

  “You’re a natural,” said Jesus, smiling.

  “What would you like to do next?”

  “It’s early, why don’t we head back to town so I can find and kill other enemies,” Jesus suggested, leaning against a tall tombstone.

  “What happened to the idea of forgiveness?”

  “That was then, this is now,” said Jesus, sitting down beside her, “In other words, I now do unto others as they have done unto me.”

  “Oh,” the Magdalene replied in a subdued voice, noting that his latest admonitions were much different from any he had ever uttered when alive. Relaxing for a moment, Mary wrinkled her nose at the scent of dried blood. The odor would be barely discernable to mortals, but was almost overwhelmingly pungent to undead nostrils. She sat up and noticed that she and Jesus were dirty, thanks to sleeping during the day in dusty tombs and wandering about at night, murdering people by sucking their blood. I need a change of clothes and so does he, she thought.

  “So Jesus, how long do you think you’ll be, killing enemies and such?”

  “Why?” asked Jesus, staring in the direction of the cliff.

  “I’d like to go to one of the baths and perhaps shop for some new clothes tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “The ones I’m wearing are disgusting,” said Mary, pointing to her dusty garb, “You should clean up too, you’re still covered in funereal oil.”

  Jesus looked down and held his clothes away from his body, noting that he was spattered with dried blood and dust. The odor was bothersome, but adding the almost overpowering stench of rancid oil and myrrh, he agreed that a bath and change of clothes was a good idea.

  A thought crossed his mind. “The vendors are closed woman, besides, we haven’t any money.”

  “That’s no problem, we’ve killed nearly a dozen people in the last day or two – I don’t think stealing clothes and a bath will make any real difference now.”

  Ruminating on the statement, he decided she was right, and after a few more enemies

  were disposed of, they would head to the Roman baths after finding or stealing new, or at least clean, clothes.

  Through entertaining themselves with Judas’ agony, they returned to Jerusalem. Jesus had decided to hunt for the Roman soldiers who had scourged him, along with others who helped nail him to the cross and mocked him while hanging helpless on the cross. Arriving at the barracks near midnight, they were viewed suspiciously by a soldier guarding the gate.

  “What do you want, Jew?” the guard sneered in bad Hebrew.

  “I’m looking for Decius Publius,” answered Jesus in flawless Latin.

  “Decius isn’t here; he's at Pilate’s residence with the acting procurator, centurion Flavius. Incidentally, what would a man like Decius want with arena bait like you?”

  “Pardon me, but I am a Levite, sir, not a Jew,” said Jesus, disgusted that Romans could not tell the difference between the few tribes of Hebrews left in the province of Judea, of which the tribe of Levi was a part.

  “So?”

  “Levites are the inherent tribal priests of the Hebrew people.”

  “Who cares, why would Decius want to see you?”

  “I don’t really think he does want to see me, but he will see me tonight anyway,” Jesus answered, turning from the guard.

  “Wait!” the guard ordered, reaching for his weapon. “You look familiar, who are you?”

  “Who do I look like friend?” asked Jesus, turning back and moving in closer, concealing his fangs.

  The guard stared at the stranger, his identity dawning on him.

  “You’re that Jesus guy, the man Decius crucified!” the frightened guard exclaimed, moving back and drawing a gladius. Jesus grabbed his arm with his left and broke it at the elbow, the sword falling harmlessly to the ground. Not feeling particularly hungry, he started to strangle him.

  “Don’t kill him,” said Mary, grabbing his arm, not out of sympathy for the guard, but because she was hungry.

  Relaxing his grip and dropping the unconscious man to the ground, Jesus replied, “By all means, why didn’t you ask me earlier?”

  “You didn’t give me any time to,” she said, sinking fangs into the victim’s throat. Quickly draining him, she rose, wiped her mouth and added, “I needed that.” An understanding smile crossed Jesus’ face as he took her hand in his.

  “Let’s find Decius, I should be hungry by that time, woman.”

  Heading to Pilate’s residence, Mary asked, “Who’s Decius?”

  “The soldier that nailed me to the cross.”

  “You're pretty pissed at him aren't you?”

  “How would you feel in my sandals?”

  Mary fell silent as they approached the opulent mansion. Just outside the wrought iron entrance gate stood a guard.

  “Who goes there?” called the guard.

  “Jesus of Nazareth.”

  “Who?”

  “Jesus of Nazareth.”

  “I don’t know anyone by that name,” the guard answered.

  �
��Good, drop dead you Roman bastard,” said Jesus, the guard falling to the porch and dying on the spot.

  “Can I do that?” asked Mary in amazement.

  “I doubt it,” said Jesus, “Verily I say, there are some things only the Son of Man can accomplish, and even I know not how.”

  “Does such power come from God?” she asked, wondering about the supernatural abilities they had.

  “I don’t know, but if there is a God, surely such comes from him,” Jesus replied, having had time to think about the situation they were in, putting it in a more positive light.

  “Since he’s dead, may I?” asked Mary, looking to the body.

  “Make it fast, I have work to do,” said Jesus, surprised that such a small woman could consume so many meals in one evening. She drained the corpse quickly, wiped her mouth, rose to her feet and they headed through the gate into Pilate’s residence.

  “Decius Publius, Etruscan of Rome, where are you?” Jesus called while they stood in the doorway.

  “Here,” answered proud centurion Decius Publius, stepping from the courtyard in full armor, beholding Jesus and folding arms across his chest.

  “Do you know who I am?” asked Jesus.

  “You’re Jesus of Nazareth, also called the Christ, who I crucified last Friday,” said Decius, standing in the threshold.

  Jesus, taken back, asked, “Don’t you fear me?”

  “I fear no one, not even Caesar, and I don’t give a damn who you are, whether you’re the son of Jupiter or Pluto,” said Decius, walking toward Jesus.

  “Kill him,” Mary hissed in Aramaic, strangely understanding much of the gist of the conversation, though not at all fluent in Latin.

  “No, this man is different,” replied Jesus, walking to Decius, intent on getting the measure of the man.

  “Some say you’re the risen Son of God, others say you’re a bloodsucking vampire,” said Decius, boldly facing Jesus.

  “Am I?”

  “I don’t believe in God, and I don’t care if you’re a vampire, the fates will determine my life,” a smiling Decius answered, drawing a polished steel gladius.

  Jesus, astonished at his remarks and actions, observed the soldier with interest.

  Decius continued, “I was once a gladiator, I was made a slave as a child; my family fell into disfavor under Augustus. I’ve beaten and killed 100 men in the arena to win my freedom, and I proudly wear my signet ring of citizenship. I’ve fought beasts – bulls, jackals, tigers; even lions, barehanded. Go ahead Jesus, if you have the guts, try to subdue me, you vampire Jew, I’ll fight you to the death and proudly. If you defeat me so be it, and may the best man win!”

  “You’ve been through a lot haven’t you?” asked Jesus in a subdued voice. A feeling of kinship passed over him and a deep compassion for the hardened soldier welled to the surface, the same emotions that had unwittingly helped lead to his unjust crucifixion.

  “You could say that,” retorted Decius, disdaining and uncaring of the compassion which seemed to emanate from the vampiric Christ.

  “You crucified me!” Jesus exclaimed, unable to let the transgression pass, his darker side coming to the surface.

  “It was nothing personal, I was following orders. Procurator Pilate ordered it, he was the governor. I had to follow his directives as a soldier of the Empire; I’m sworn on my honor to do so. Tell me, as a man, what would you have done in my place?”

  “Kill him,” said the Magdalene, lunging for Decius.

  “No Mary, it would be wrong,” said Jesus, moving an arm in front of her, “I understand him, this gentleman is a man of honor, and that is rare indeed in this world.”

  “What?” asked Mary, “Are you crazy, this bastard crucified you – he nailed you to the cross!”

  “That may be true, but he doesn't deny it and has faced me.”

  Decius stood his ground, sword in hand.

  “You’re an honorable man?” asked Jesus.

  “I’d rather die before I would compromise my honor.”

  “Verily I say unto you, I am a vampire, and could kill you with a single word, like I did with your guard.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t you fear that?”

  “Yes, I fear that, but if you kill me now, I will have died a man and not a coward. It’s better to die that way, as you tried to do while being scourged.”

  “I can’t take this man,” said Jesus, turning from Decius and moving a hand to his forehead.

  “I can,” Mary replied with a vicious smile, moving toward the centurion that had harmed her rabbi.

  “No woman!” ordered Jesus, invoking his authority over her.

  The Magdalene reluctantly obeyed. She had to, as Jesus was her master, the vampire who had brought her to the sunless, dark realm of the undead. Moving back as ordered, she looked sullenly to him.

  “Decius, are you my enemy?” asked Jesus, looking into his hazel eyes.

  “No, I have never been, I don’t even truly know you,” said a frowning Decius, looking down at his gladius.

  “Will you let the Magdalene and I pass, and not utter a word of our having been here?”

  “Yes, I swear on my honor, and not out of fear. You’re not my enemy, nor are you an enemy of Rome, and I never believed you were, even as I nailed you to the cross.”

  “And if I was?”

  “I would have fought you to the death, then or now, with weapons or my bare hands.”

  “Granted,” said Jesus, “What do you think of my returning as a vampire?”

  “I don’t know, but I think I envy you and wish I were like you.”

  “I will spare you centurion Decius, even though you crucified me,” said Jesus, raising an index finger in the air, “I feel we will meet again, within your lifetime.”

  Decius nodded, returned his gladius to its scabbard and saluted Jesus Christ. He extended his arm, offering it in friendship. Jesus took his arm, giving him a Roman handshake.

  Gripping each other’s forearms, Decius said, “I certainly hope we’ll meet again Jesus, the one called Christ. It’s good to have met an equal adversary; I look forward to meeting you again, as a friend or as an enemy.”

  Jesus nodded. He and the Magdalene vanished from Pilate’s residence, never to return. Decius stepped to the porch, noting the pale corpse of the guard on the marble floor, just outside the gate. “I’m going to need another guard,” he observed, wondering if he would encounter Jesus again. The brave, honorable centurion T. Decius Publius would again see Jesus, once more in Jerusalem that year, and then much later on the European continent, before his life ended.