- Chapter 3 -
I never met my mother. I was the unlucky one who missed out on her distinctive laugh, her charming smile, and caring touch. Everyone I encountered had nothing but sweet blessings for her and some swore she was a gift from God; one too precious to be kept her on Earth. My father, on the other hand, had started out a gentleman, a real town favourite. After my mother passed on he became sour and vile, taking up heavy drinking as a hobby and raging father as a passtime. Maggie would often tell me that he was the reason my - how can I phrase this - "special skills" were opressed. After his death, I became aware of the world around me.
The waiting room was quite silent when Martin walked in. His eyes moistened with tears when he spotted Jesus sitting alone by the water fountain, a distinctive sadness to his posture. His long curly blonde hair was shadowing his grim face, giving him an unwated maturity.
Martin walked up to him and rested his hand on the little boy's shoulder.
"Hey cowboy," Martin attempted a sympathetic smile, hoping his nephew would look up at him. But Jesus didn't and kept his attention on the marble tiles below.
A young woman walked out of a private office with a clipboard and asked Martin to accompany her inside. He told Jesus he wouldn't be long and they would be out of here shortly. Jesus nodded.
The young woman, Madonna Riviera, closed the door behind and gestured to Martin to have a seat. She adjusted her purple glasses and took a seat across from Martin. She brushed her blonde hair from her face and read off her clipboard. She looked up at Martin.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr..."
"Mr. Christ. Martin Christ."
"Your nephew is a very special boy, you know that, right?"
"Yes. My sister told me about...the arrangement."
Madonna smiled. She removed her lilac blazer and hung it on the antique brass coat rack. The whole office had a very masculine décor. Martin knew this wasn't her office. She was an Agent and had most likely sedated the actual staff. She walked up behind him, a stern expression painted on her naturally pale face.
"You are aware of the responsabilities you will have to undertake from now on, right?" She asked, walking back to the leather chair.
Martin was quite clear on the job that awaited him. Taking care of a child was daunting enough and Jesus wasn't just a regular child. Martin's palms were moist and he rubbed them quickly on his ripped black jeans. As much as Madonna was buttoned up and serious, Martin had a darker, artistic, laid back style that somewhat worried the Agency. He was surprised they had chosen him over Michael, the more mature, serious brother.
" Are you positive that I am the right one? I'm studying embalming. You guys haven't made a mistake? Michael is far -"
"Michael," Madonna said cutting him off, "might be the more...obvious choice, but you are the rational one. It might not be easy at first, but your heart is in the right place. If Jesus is to become who is destined to be, it shall be due to your guidance. We believe in you, Mr. Christ." She winked, and Martin could notice a sparkle in her grey eyes. He would later describe it as a reassuring light.
"Will you guys be watching him? I want him to lead a normal life." Martin insisted, which seemed to please Madonna judging by the smile on her face.
"Your protective instincts are charming, Mr. Christ. That is exactly why we have chosen you." She walked over to the overly large dramatic window and looked out, crossing her arms behind her back. "I might want to remind you that his life will be anything but normal"