Free Revelations by Julie Lynn Hayes

that my son can stay strong.

Chapter Ten: Jesus
    The evening has become surprisingly still, especially in the wake of the music-filled tent we’ve just left. A rather disturbing stillness. Although I’m not quite sure what I’d expected either, to be honest. Just not this emptiness. Almost a void, but a fitting one, nonetheless. Somewhat symbolic of the silence that has lain between us lately, which is equally disturbing, if not more so. A silence so thick I find it hard to breathe.
    “Judas,” I begin, “Jude…” And stop. Nothing sounds right. Nothing feels right.
    I sigh, force myself to move away from him, my gaze caught by the night sky; the stars glitter like tiny beads above us, pressed tightly into the velvet backdrop of the heavens. Why is everything between us so difficult? I don’t remember it ever being like this before. Never.
    There are so many things I’d like to say, things I need to say, before I can’t say them. Before my time is through again…before my part of the story is done. Our part, I remind myself. We’re both about to exit. And we never seem to do it in a less than painful way. That thought causes me to wince. Not on my behalf, but his.
    Try though I might, my brain doesn’t seem capable of forming coherent sentences at the moment. Which isn’t good. Soon I’ll be going out on stage, and I’ll need every word I can muster then. And right this moment, I can barely remember my name.
    Pull yourself together, I admonish myself. You are His son, you can do this, surely. You’ve done far more difficult things.
    “Judas, please be careful,” I end up saying at last. “I don’t wish to see you hurt.” Wow, now I sound like his mother. Or an over-protective nanny. Smooth move there. Quick, change the subject.

    “Did you have any trouble with the local officials? All the permits are in order, yes? No sense in being taken down for some minor technicality, after all. We’re too close to the end now.” Yes, talk business, nothing personal.
    He brushes aside my questions even as he brushes back the fair hair that overhangs his temple, easily and casually. Why do his movements fill me with an inner fire such as I’ve never felt before? Concentrate, please, concentrate. On his words. Not his body. “You’re the one he wants, not me,” Judas is saying, “He’s just fucking with me because it amuses him. And he hates the idea I won’t fawn over him, or give in to his laughable attempts at seduction by fucking him.” I wince involuntarily. I don’t know if it’s from the words themselves, or the image they involuntarily conjure. I do know what Lucifer is capable of, after all—I should by now. Been doing this for two thousand years plus.
    “Have faith, I won’t give in to his temptations,” I vow. Even to myself, my words sound lame.
    It’s time I want, time that I need—and time I don’t have. Why does it seem to be kaleidoscoping about us so, blurring everything, giving it all a distorted sense of reality, making it hard to know what truly is, what has been, and what will be?
    Why does everything seem to be assuming a breathtaking speed, just when I wish to slow it down? What is it I’m so afraid of?
    “Watch out for Kaplan,” he’s saying. Why is he looking at me that way? What is he thinking? And what did I miss?
    “Kaplan?” I try to place the name.
    “Local dick. The kind that likes to remind you that being gay is still a crime in a lot of places.”
    Why are my cheeks burning? Is there no safe topic of conversation? “It’s the Kaplans of the world that we fight,” I remind him, struggling to focus, “fight against, that is…against just such ridiculous prejudices my Father does not wish to continue to flourish. Any longer.”
    He takes a step closer. Breathing seems to be becoming optional. “Jesus…” I raise my hand to his pale cheek, cup it softly. A soft shiver runs through his frame. What is he thinking? What am I thinking? Am I thinking? Father,