Sunday, April 10, 2011

Jesus Murphy: A Loyal Agent (Ch. 4-7)

- Chapter 4 -

When I was questionned by Poncius yesterday, my mind kept drifintg back to my childhood and how innocent I use to be. I use to believe that I had control over my actions. I have come to learn that every step I took and every word I spoke were dictated long before my birth. Poncius called it guidance. Seldom have I been guided against my will and continued to call it so. I wasn't being guided. I was being shaped.


Jesus was sitting quiet in the back of the red sedan. He was looking out the window, observing the scenary as it flew by at alarming speed. Martin was driving and singing at the same time, which he hoped would cheer up his nephew. It had quite the opposite effect. The melody reminded Jesus too much of his father and tears soon swelled up in his eyes.

Martin noticed and stopped humming immediately. He parked the car on the side of the road and turned towards his crying nephew. The poor boy had trouble breathing as his sobs took his breath away. Jesus looked up and noticed his uncle looking down at him.

"It's not fair. Why did they have to go?!"

"Sometimes things, terrible as they may be, happen to shape a man. They are useful in your path to success."

Martin could see that Jesus was trying to make sense of his words. His brow sunk towards his eyes and his lips quivered.

"You will understand in time, Jesus. Just don't forget that I am here for you." Martin said, trying desperately to reassure his nephew. He knew words couldn't heal the pain that manifested itself and that only time could heal his nephew's wound.

Jesus didn't utter another word for the rest of the journey home. He played with his thumbs and would stop sometime to take in the scenary outside. He looked at nature and admired the strenght it had to continually evolve through time. Trees grew, created seeds, died, and were then reborn. Flowers made pollen and then gusts of wind would blow them around until the pollen reached safe ground and grew into another beautiful flower. Their cycle of life was continous. Why couldn't humans be the same?

Martin pulled into his driveway and Jesus recognized his uncle's house. He had fond memories of playing here as a child, running around the large backyard, swimming in the pool, running with the other kids. The red tin roof gave him comfort as it reminded him of a weekend he spent here with his father and they played cards while rain tick-tocked off the metal sheeting.

"Hey, we're here. You go inside, i'll take your bags in" Martin instructed, and watched Jesus walked somberly inside the house.

Martin was lifting the bags out of the trunk when he noticed a lilac flower at the bottom of the trunk. He knew what this meant.

"I didn't think you would be around all the time." Martin said, dropping the bags to the pavement below and turning around to face Madonna Riviera.

She wore the usual blazer paired with a mauve tailored skirt. She smiled, looked up at the house, then back at Martin.

"I told you I would watch over him. Make sure he doesn't stray from his path." Her voice was meant to be comforting but Martin was always apprehensive when around an Agent. He knew what they did, respected their dedication, but loathed their lack of human emotions and understanding.

"He doesn't trust me enough?" Martin asked, picking up the few bags that still remained on the driveway. Madonna didn't like the tone of his voice or the implication it carried.

"It's temptation He doesn't trust. Why do you question His work, Martin? Don't you trust us?"

"I trust Him, Madonna, and nobody can question my loyalty. I don't trust you, however."

She smirked. It was one of her trademark. She removed her glasses and slipped them inside her purse. Martin knew this to be a sign of anger. Or at least, as much as an Agent could express.

"You know what I can do Martin. Don't make me use my abilities against you."

"Is that what you call guiding the people? Making them act upon your behalf? I saw the scripture, Madonna," He said, turning his back to her and walking up the driveway towards the house, "I know the part I have to play. I told you before I am not scared of you."

Martin entered the house and Madonna could see Jesus helping his uncle with the bags before the door closed and blocked her view.

"History has been rewritten before. It could happen again." She snickered.

Madonna turned around and hummed a sweet tune while walking down the road towards the sunset.

Jesus was twisting and turning in his sheets, unable to fall asleep. Images of his father floated endlessly through his mind. He finally stopped turning and lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling. It had a simple design to it, paint splatters covered it and Jesus was creating shapes and patterns. He was just about ready to fall asleep when he noticed the ceiling was slowly changing colours and soon it turned from white to light purple.

A voice echoed through the room. A soft female voice.

"Rest, boy. Sleep your pain away and dream of a better world. Tomorrow is a brand new day. Tomorrow, you will heal the world."

The voice slowly drifted away and Jesus drew the blankets up to his nose, terrified of what had just happened. I must already be sleeping, he thought, I am dreaming. He shifted in his bed and finally closed his eyes.
- Chapter 5 -
Madonna On The Rocks


The smoke infested pub was crawling with drunken locals and scandaly clad women. When Madonna Riviera stepped in she turned heads and made the women's faces turn sour. She ignored the patrons and sat down on one of the wobbly leather stools that lined the massive oak bar.

The man behind the counter was washing cups when Madonna took a seat across from him. He had a big head, and the back of it was crippled with fat. He was bald and sweat beads glistened on his forehead. Madonna smiled and flagged his attention.

He swung his drying towel over his shoulder and walked strangely towards her. He had a odd limp and his arms dangled at his side.

"How can I help you, lass?" He asked, and Madonna quickly picked up on his Scottish accent.

"A true Scottie, I see."

"Haven't been in me home country since I was a wee boy" He winked and offered her a menu.

Madonna disregarded the wine list knowing beforehand what she was going to order.

"I'll have a whisky on the rocks, please"

The bartender smiled and began to prepare Madonna's drink. She looked around the room, scanned the people that surrounded her and assessed the potential for danger. There was none. She turned back to the bartender just as he placed her drink in front of her.

"One straight whisky for the lady. It'll be three fifty."

Madonna winked and the man behind the counter stopped blinking for a minute. He was mesmerized by the twinkle in her eye. It was so reassuring, like a mother's caring touch after an injury. He smiled and shrugged.

"How rude of me, lass. Drink's on me." He told her before going back to washing his cups. He turned towards Madonna a couple of times and looked at her funny but would then mutter something to himself and continued his chores.

The young woman was sipping on her drink when the door to the pub swung opened. Madonna adjusted her dramatic purple collar and smoothed out her pitch black skirt. She puckered her lips and greeted the man that sat down next to her.

"I didn't expect you to show up, Zachariah."

The man named Zachariah was older then he looked. His hair was slicked back into a greying ponytail and his face was outlined with a dark grey beard. He had circular glasses that rested atop his awkwardly crooked nose. He looked frail but Zachariah had power like no other. He ordered a pale ale and turned to Madonna.

"Why did you call me again, Mrs. Riviera? Didn't I make myself clear last time?"

"Yes, you did. Elizabeth was very adamant about your decision. I called you here hoping you would reconsider"

"My wife and I will not allow you to experiment on our son." Zachariah answered firmly, looking his companion right in the eyes.

"Your not afraid to look into my eyes; knowing what they can do, what they can make you do?"

"You don't scare me, Madonna. The Agency made a terrible mistake in appointing you to this prophecy."

Madonna adjusted her purple square glasses and drank what remained of her whisky and slammed the glass down. The ice danced around in the bottom of the cup.

"You can't prevent this from happening, old friend," she spat out the last word with such venom that she would shame the deadliest of snakes, "the messiah is on his way as we speak and your son will cross path with him. Not even you can stop this."

Just before leaving the crusty looking pub, Madonna turned around and winked in Zachariahs direction. A small sparkle crossed the room and for a moment, it was like time stood still. She brushed her blonde hair behind her ears and smiled.

"You will bring John to the public library tomorrow at six sharp. You will come alone. And then you will forget John forever." The words came out of her mouth with such sweetness, much like an old jukebox tune that made any listener lose his thoughts to better times.

Madonna turned around and slipped on a pair of oval sunglasses over her light grey eyes and stepped out of the pub.
- Chapter 6 -
A Loyal Agent

I guess it's time I let you know why I am writing this letter to you. I'm about to be crucified for the deeds that we commited. You might not understand why I am letting this be. Know that I am doing this for you, for them, for all of us. It might not impact decisions tomorrow or events in the near future; but rest assured that my death will create change where change is needed and reinforce the message that we desperatly tried to spread. Have faith in what is to be and forgive those who have done this to me. I will not write to you anymore and it pains me tremendously. Wherever you are right now, you must do one thing when you receive this letter:

Find Judeyah. He lied...



Madonna Riviera was eating her favourite flavoured ice cream, remembering one summer by the Santa Monica Pier, when her cellphone went off. She took one last quick lick of the ice cream and threw it in the metal bin. She flipped open her cellphone and spoke calmly.


"Is everything going according to plan?"

"It is..." Madonna hesitated, looked around the alley beside the small pub, "but I don't feel good about this. Kidnapping a child, we don't do this."

"I thought you were a loyal agent, Riviera. Don't tell me you're going soft on us already; this is your first task?" The male voice quipped, making Madonna cringe. The last thing she wanted was for the Agency to doubt her efficiency. She had worked too hard to achieve this rank. She didn't want to blow her chance of impressing the Boss.

"I am not going soft. I will execute my orders." Madonna said, trying to sound convincing, although she doubted her own words. She sighed and contemplated her options. She didn't have time to think any longer. Her target, Zachariah Baptist, had just entered the pub.

"I have to let you go, he's here." Madonna said assuringly, flipping her phone close. She slipped on her purple blazer and popped the collar up adding to her already dramatic flare. She took in a deep breath and reassured herself.

"I can do this" She whispered to herself as she stepped inside the pub to force a man to hand her his son and forget him forever...



Madonna stepped inside her appartment and closed the door behind her, resting against it. She closed her eyes and reminded herself why she kept this job. After a moment of self reflection, Madonna threw her keys in the small basket by the door and walked to her kitchen.

She removed the purple pin from her hair, letting it flow on either side of her face. She ran her hands through her hair. She smiled and cherished this moment of tranquility, away from the orders and the chaos. Here, at home, she had no worries.

Madonna was just about to nuke a microwave diner when a knock came on the door. She stopped moving, instinctively. There came another knock. The blonde agent placed the diner box on the counter and tip-toed towards the door. It was silent in the appartment, safe the wind blowing through the open window.

The moonlight was shining in, casting eerie shadows against the walls. Madonna's heart was thumping through her chest. Nobody knew where she lived. There shouldn't be a knock at this door. Somebody had found her safe haven.

She grabbed the handle tightly and took in a deep breath before swinging the door open. A woman was standing in the hallway her back turned.


The woman turned around and smiled. She had hair the colour of snow and fair skin. Something in her smile betrayed the charm in her eyes.

"May I come in?" Anna Simeon asked, letting herself inside the appartment.

Madonna slammed the door shut and began shouting at her guest.

"How dare you come here? After what you have done?"

"Please spare me the spiteful tyrade, Madonna. I'm not here to harm you." Anna said, sitting down on one of Madonna's brown leather couches. She removed her striking white trench and made herself quite comfortable.

"What are you playing at, Anna? Look at yourself, you barely have any colour left." Madonna said, a slight tinge in her voice. Seeing her guest again brought back both great and terrible memories. She didn't budge from the doorway, her arms crossed against her chest.

"I always distasted purple anyhow. I still don't believe you've kept up with this sentence."

"It isn't a sentence, Anna and I wish you saw it the way I do," Madonna replied, walking up to Anna and looking down at her with authority, "if you're not going to make yourself clear as to why you violated the pact and came here, then I will ask you to leave." She added, her eyes glowing brighter then they ever had.

Anna smiled and dismissed it. "How rude of you to try and persuade me to do anything I don't wish to do," Anna spat out, getting off the couch. She grabbed her trench and walked towards the door. "And then you call yourself the good guys..." She smirked and stormed out of the appartment.
- Chapter 7 -
Morning After

When Jesus woke up the next day, he felt an odd twinge in his stomach, as if his intestines were in knots. He had felt the same way the day he found his father. He still wasn't sure if what happened was a dream or something more. The voice that had spoken to him, the weird patterns in the ceiling paint; had that truly occured?

Jesus contemplated last night's vision when he heard his uncle calling out. It was time to go register at his new school. He threw his stuffed camel on the bed and ran inside the bathroom. He turned on the water and stepped inside the shower. The water splashed around his face and he closed his eyes. He couldn't help to think of his parents in moments of silence. Just a week ago he was having supper with his father. It hurt him. What pained him more was that he had no memory of his mother, only pictures and videos.

He finished washing and turned off the water, stepped out of the tub and dried off in front of the mirror. He looked at himself, squinted his eyes and crinkled his nose. He saw a seven year old boy looking back, but somehow Jesus felt older, wiser. Thinking about that alone must make him more mature then anyone his age? Of course, he thought to himself.

The small wise boy sprinted down the stairs and into the kitchen where he almost knocked over his uncle, who was carrying a large tray of fruits.

"Whoa whoa, there cowboy. You almost knocked over breakfast!" Martin laughed, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he placed the silver tray on the table and took a seat across from his nephew.

"How'd you sleep last night?" He asked Jesus, a slight revelation of his concern seeping through his voice.

"Good." Jesus answered. He didn't lie, but he didn't add anything to it. He didn't know what happened exactly but he knew his uncle would most likely question him about it. For now, it was his little secret. "So what's the plan for today? I mean, for school and all?"
"Well, we're going to go meet with your principal and the guidance counselor later and then after that i'm taking you out for some pizza," Martin said, and smiled when Jesus showed his excitement, "So you're okay with that, cowboy?"

Jesus was just about to answer when the room began to darken, as if the light was being pulled out of it. Their was a distinctive purple trim around the edge of the darkness and it shadowed his uncle who didn't seem to notice. Suddenly everything became black and Jesus was standing in front of a beautiful blonde woman. He now recognized her from the agency; she was the one who spoke with his uncle. Her name was Madonna Riviera.

Her posture were soft and her smile matched that. Jesus didn't feel threatened but something tickled his gut in a bad way. She circled him, her long purple dress flowing at either side of her. She had a hood over her blonde hair, masking her eyes from view.

"Hello, Jesus."

Jesus nodded, stood still, didn't know what else to do. He regretted leaving his camel behind.

"Don't be frightened. I wanted to meet you, in person. I may never have the chance again." She added, slipping off the hood, revealing her light grey eyes.

Why was she saying things like that, Jesus thought. Jesus couldn't grasp the notion of time as quickly as an adult and her words had the opposite effect of what she had intended them to. He pulled away, scared. The shadows were beginning to move and light was creeping in through the darkness.

"You're not ready, I see. I expected so. When you are, I shall be back but only once more. And then..." She looked away, and Jesus could see the tears in her eyes, "Well let's just say you will finally be able to go home"

All at once, as if nothing of it had been, the room came back into focus, and Martin bore a grim expression.

"Jesus...who were you talking to?" He asked, sadness in his voice.

Jesus hesitated before answering. That woman represented herself as a friend, but something in her tone, in her commitment to him, frightened him tremendously. She told him yesterday that he would heal the world today. Although she didn't ask him to keep it a secret, Jesus felt obliged to.

"Nobody" Jesus answered, looking down into his bowl of cereal.

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