Sunday, March 20, 2011

Jesus Murphy: Blog Story (9)

- Chapter 9 -
Abrupt Departure

It was christmas eve. The day before Jesus's sixteenth birthday. The day before the anniversary of his mother's death. He lingered alone in his room on that day like he usually did. He would mope around, look at pictures for hours on end, cry. Jesus would switch from resting on the bed to sitting at his computer. He was doing just that when Martin came rushing into his bedroom, his hair dishevelled and scratches running wildly down his face.

"Pack up, now. They found us." There was something off in his voice, it trembled. Martin's voice never faltered. He looked panicked, afraid, something about him scared Jesus.

"What happened? We can't leave. Dad, what about Joan?" Jesus asked, getting off his bed.

It tugged at Martin's heart. That word. Dad. He had made the mistake of letting Jesus get close to a girl. He would never make that same mistake. "We don't have time to argue about this, Jesus. We knew this could happen. Look at my face Jesus. Now imagine what they would do with you."

"I'm not going. They can try and take me -" Jesus started, a slight rise in his voice.

"Don't you ever speak like that, Jesus," his uncle cut him off, "we are not like them. We don't hurt people." Martin spoke with authority, one that Jesus knew very well to respect. "Five minutes, Jesus. I'll be downstairs."

Martin nodded and looked at Jesus, waiting for his nod of approval. Jesus finally subsided and nodded. He sighed and began to gather the essentials. He lingered a while longer even when Martin began to shout at him to hurry up. He couldn't keep his eyes off of the photo beside his bed; the one with Joan. They were at the Santa Monica pier.

"Come on, cowboy. Let's go!" Martin shouted from down the stairs. Jesus scanned his room one more time. He shut off the lights and ran down the stairs.

Martin was at the door, a few bags in his hands. He wore the usual getaway gear; black pants, black vest. Nothing out of the ordinary. "When I tell you five minutes, I mean it," he said when Jesus finally reached the landing.

"Where are we going this time?" Jesus asked.

"The only place that's safe," he paused to open the door, "we're going back home."

The news struck Jesus and paralyzed him momentarily. He had never imagined going back there after what happened. Surely Martin was mistaken, he couldn't possibly want to go back there. People had seen what he had done; how he healed the man's sight. They would expose him and Jesus knew the consequences of being exposed.

"We can't go back there, dad. They know about me." Jesus protested, dropping his bags on the floor.

"An old friend has decided to help us. She's very persuasive. If we stay here any longer they will catch you, Jesus, and then they'll kill me." Martin said, very matter-of-factly.

Jesus knew what they were capable of. He couldn't dispute what Martin was saying. If he said they had to go, he was serious about it. Jesus sighed and walked out of the house and Martin followed behind. They got into the car and took off.

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