Free Necessary Heartbreak by Michael J. Sullivan Page A

the leg, and he cried out.
    â€œKeep running. Don’t stop.”
    Leah’s excitement turned to horror. “Yochanan! Yochanan!”
    A man, tall and with arms like tree trunks, looked up toward her. “Leah!”
    He collapsed suddenly, struck by a rock hurled by a Roman soldier. Yochanan hit his head hard against the side of a tree, not too far from the well. From the roof, Leah could see that he was bleeding heavily.
    â€œJohn,” the other man yelled. “John!”
    â€œGet that rebel! Kill him if you can!” a soldier shouted.
    The stranger ran off as Leah held her hands over her face. “No! No! No!” she wailed. “Yochanan. Oh, my Yochanan. No! No! No!”

    No breeze was to be found inside the Antonia Fortress that evening. The solid walls were dense and unyielding, and Michael felt alone and cut off from the outside world. He yearned for another chance to take a stroll along Crab Meadow Beach, then smiled ruefully to himself. How often had he thought about taking a walk down there, only to be quickly distracted by life’s mundane problems?
    He coughed slightly, trying to gather up some saliva to relieve the itch in his throat, and forced himself not to think about water. The heat was stifling, exhausting him. The screams he had heard earlier seemed to have diminished, or perhaps he’d just grown accustomed to his surroundings. He struggled to find a comfortable position but without success.
    â€œI need water,” Michael shouted with the last bit of energy he had. In the next cell, Barabbas lay silent, a veteran at survival.
    â€œSleep, my friend, sleep,” he whispered.
    Michael ignored him. “Help! I need water!”
    He heard heavy footsteps approaching, then a soldier appeared outside his cell door. He rattled the metal bars with the shaft of his spear. “Shut up!”
    â€œLeave him alone,” ordered a familiar voice. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”
    A tall man strolled past Michael’s cell and stopped in front of Barabbas. “This sick murderer deserves to die, though.”
    â€œI’ll get you before you get me,” Barabbas retorted, but with far less energy than he had displayed a few hours ago.
    The Roman soldier laughed mockingly. “You’ll rot here or we’ll get you before you do die!” He shoved his spear through the opening and taunted Barabbas with the sharp, shiny point, allowing it to ping his neck, drawing blood. A group of soldiers standing nearby cheered.
    â€œKill him, Marcus. Let’s give his cell to someone worthy. He isn’t much of a rebel, is he?”
    The soldiers laughed louder. One pulled out what looked like dice and another tossed several pieces of silver on the floor. “Are you in with us, Marcus?”
    â€œHow much do you have?” Marcus asked, half grinning.
    â€œEnough to make you happy, Marcus.”
    He walked past Michael, then suddenly turned to look at him. “No one will hurt you here.”
    The three other soldiers sitting on the floor exchanged confused glances. “But, Marcus, we have orders to kill him.”
    Marcus leaned over and grabbed the soldier by his neck. “The orders have been changed,” he said menacingly, then pushed the man back. He sat down beside the others and pulled out a light brown pouch, dumping several coins on the floor. Then he removed his helmet and wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead.
    Marcus looked back at Michael, now paralyzed against the wall. “Get my friend a cup of water,” he ordered, gesturing toward the soldiers.
    â€œThis is against the governor’s policy,” the soldier to his right replied. Without warning Marcus grabbed his arm, pinning it to the ground.
    The soldier winced in pain. “My arm. You’re breaking it, Marcus.”
    Marcus paused a moment longer, then let go. “I make the policy here. Get a cup of water for my