Naturally, I didn’t get my wish — yup, the next night too The Big Guy forced yet another dream upon me…
And so it was that Hope and Hopelessness continued their eternal struggle – in the forms of the prophets Elijah and Enoch.
(Oh boy, whenever I get a vision of these two, it’s always a bit melodramatic – sorry. Just remember, I have no control here…)
“Our captor is The Great Deceiver.” Wailed Elijah, sitting in a pool of his own filth. “The Brother I warned the world about. Yes, it is Him.”
“He is not whom the world believes him to be.” Enoch replied stoically.
Now, as you might know, Elijah and Enoch were once men of renown, blessed amongst all. In fact, if you’ve read your Bible, then you know that when they had walked upon the earth, neither of them had tasted death, but instead both had been taken up to Heaven without ever experiencing the grave.
Even after they had passed from this world, many tales were told about their greatness and the memory of each had inspired believers for thousands of years – and all the while, both Elijah and Enoch had enjoyed the splendor of the afterlife.
But then, some three years ago, I began to get visions of how both were sent back to Earth, and instructed to fulfill a new mission – to prepare the world for the great and dreadful coming of the Lord.
Despite their previous experience with such heavenly assignments, when they returned again to this world, I could immediately see that both men quickly discovered that the peoples of this age were much different than those they had influenced in the past – for starters everyone was wearing face masks and afraid to let the prophets even get close to them.
Despite their God-given mission, Elijah and Enoch floundered.
For over a year, I had watched as they were unable to find anyone willing to place faith in what they had to say — and so the world missed out on much of the prophecies they first spoke.
(It wasn’t really that important anyway, trust me. Also, in defense of the rest of the world, while the United Nations open border policy allowed for immigrants to travel freely (if they could provide the necessary Vaccine Passports), Elijah and Enoch had no such documentation. How Elijah ended up in the hill country of Romania, or Enoch in Southeast Asia, I’ll never know – and I’m sure they didn’t either. It didn’t help that the prophets clung to the former hygiene habits of the Old Testament, nor that they spoke ancient dialects that the people of the lands they traveled in could not understand – in short looked like more like a couple of Covid-carrying panhandlers rather than divine prophets proclaiming the coming Revelation. But I guess He didn’t think ahead on that before He sent them, huh?)
The more visions I got about The Two Witnesses, the more I could see that both prophets were not reacting well to their visionary experience – specifically whenever they got a vision it clearly incapacitated them. Luckily for them, people who observed them in such spasms wrote it off as merely some of the serious but all-too-common “immune responses” to the Covid vaccines and just let them suffer through it – because that was the norm at the time. When the local authorities observed them survive, they happily shoved a couple Immunity Passes on them although I doubt the prophets realized how valuable that kind of documentation was.
Meanwhile I knew better – they were experiencing revelations. I watch them try to resist when the visions hit them – yet their efforts were futile and they had no choice but to accept what He sent them…
Powerful images force fed into their minds, an unwelcome miasma that they had no choice but to regurgitate to any who would listen…yet few ever did.
But then, some two years ago, I became intrigued to see that both of the prophets were ‘discovered.’ At first I thought they were just being rounded up by the Covid contact tracers in their areas and taken to one of Quarantine Camps in their regions – where they’d inevitably be vaxxed, chipped, and ‘educated’ on the virus safety protocols for their area. But that’s not what happened.
Instead I watched with curiosity as each of the men was taken… somewhere else.
Although I didn’t see where they traveled to, I did witness that both prophets ended up in the same mysterious location – where they were met by a man whose identity I could never quite make out, yet who had obviously correctly identified the seers as the heavenly witnesses they were.
Then it was that the prophets were indeed vaxxed and chipped against their will (like so many other people in the world). Worse yet, it quickly became clear that their new acquaintance was in fact not doing all this out of friendship to the prophets – for the mystery man then put Elijah and Enoch in shackles and imprisoned them in a dark dungeon. But sadly their horrors didn’t end there – next the captor blinded the seers by gouging out their eyes! Finally, after dressing them in sackcloth, their evil benefactor left the blind prophets to live in filth and squalor – forsaken by the world and apparently their God too.
And yet, in spite of all of these hardships, still Elijah and Enoch prophesied – for they had no choice. (Apparently not even the Covid Vaccine could stop their visions, but then again that vax didn’t do much to stop Covid either so I don’t think anyone was surprised by yet another example of the vaccines INeffectiveness, right?)
Meanwhile, aas it now stood for the prophets, today was no different than yesterday, and promised no hope for tomorrow – and in that regard I felt akin to them.
As I looked upon them today, I saw them huddled next to one another on the cold stone floor of the dank cave that held them. Yes, although prophets, they were prisoners. After many months in this place both men were frail and gaunt, yet still they did not protest their conditions. (On the bright side, at least they didn’t have to wear those silly face masks in their cell – so they had something to be thankful for, right?)
Yet I knew that neither man had a mind made for this world – instead their only purpose was to speak about the knowledge of what was to come – and in this capacity, there were none on earth who could match their tales. (No, not even me).
Unfortunately for the world, no one recognized their talents until it was too late.
Correction — their captor did – for it was he who had arranged to have cameras record their every action and word. Thus, whilst Elijah and Enoch continued to speak about that which they saw in their mind’s eye, what they did not know was that they were involuntarily spewing forth God’s wisdom to a man whom these divine messages were never intended for!
“He holds the Seven Stars captive.” Elijah bellowed.
“Even Smyrna and Philadelphia?” Enoch asked.
“All Seven are his.”
“Then He will rule over the nations with an iron scepter.” Enoch pulled downwards on his face, stretching open the barren caves of his missing eyes.
Elijah writhed on the floor, “Any who oppose him will be dashed like pottery.”
Enoch rose up and began to twirl, “A Great Battle is coming!”
“It has already begun!” Elijah tore at his skin as if to cast off a burning blanket.
At long last I awoke — it was nearly 10am my time and a cardinal was chirp, chirp, chirping just outside my bedroom window.
“SHUT UP!” I screamed at the red-smocked bird, before pulling a pillow down over my head – to no avail. “Ah, hell, it’s time to get up anyway.” And I reached a hand over the side of my bed and searched for the bottle of Jim Beam that was usually rolling around on the floor.
I thought about Alan – clearly he was in dire straits based on my last vision of him being accosted by those three goons. You might guess it had something to do with violating Covid curfew but I knew better – he’d just retrieved his Nail from the CEC Catacombs the timing couldn’t have been worse for Alan – it was no coincidence that those murderous men had appeared when they did…and it had nothing to do with any virus.
Despite that recent cavalcade of visions about my friend, I was left with nothing but questions about his present situation.
But let’s be clear here – I’m no sucker.
You know as well as I that He is trying to peak my interest and draw me back into The Commission. But what He doesn’t seem to realize is – I DON’T CARE! I keep trying to tell Him that but He doesn’t listen.
All my life He’s been force-feeding me these visions. Oh, I’ve fallen for His games in the past. I’ve tried to do His Will – but it never gets me anywhere. It’s a damn waste of time, I tell you.
You understand that don’t you? Please, if you learn one thing from me, learn this – don’t fall for His tricks.
Will Eisner “A Contract with God” c 1978
So Alan’s in trouble, huh?
And now I suppose He wants me to go and save him?
Sorry, not going to happen.
Oh sure, Alan is my friend, but let’s face it, he’s a big boy. He knows what’s at stake for holding one of the Three. And, really now, what’s going to happen to Alan anyway? You know as well as I that they can’t kill him, so what can they do to him? Nothing. That’s right, nothing!
So, why did He even bother to waste my time showing me those visions anyway?
As YOU are my witness, I’ll say it again – GOD, please leave me alone!!
Unfortunately for me, my marathon vision of my friend Alan was still continuing. (I mean seriously, how much more of this can I be expected to pay attention to?)
Unfortunately for Alan, although it was but a short walk to his own apartment building, I could see that his distress was only growing worse – the man even forgot to put on his face mask while walking to his apartment! Luckily for him, none of the nighttime patrols spotted him.
(Ah, I see that he DID get the quote I was referencing in the last chapter. Well done.)
“Bah.” He replied, taking up both sides of his self-dialogue. “You read too far into this. It was merely a coincidence. She’s not married and neither are you. Don’t be so afraid to LIVE, man! No, no, tomorrow we’ll see her and make it up to her.”
(Oops — I guess that cat’s out of the bag, eh? In case you didn’t know, Miriam is the Hebrew woman who is Alan’s long lost love. It’s really quite a pitiful story – remind me to tell you about it sometime.)
“Ha, that’s always been a lost cause. I haven’t seen her in decades. I don’t owe her anything. I’m free to be with Teri if I so choose, right?”
Thus did he continue arguing with himself, on the one hand, trying to excuse his actions with Teri, and on the other, spouting off the wisdom of the Bible as justification for his abrupt departure. And all the while seemingly trying to assure himself that he had no feelings for Miriam.
At last, as he made his way inside the door of his flat, and there his self-argument ended; for as he looked down at the pile of mail, his eyes immediately fixed themselves on a small piece of airmail that sat atop the others.
(Well at least I am not the only one that she’s torturing).
Ripping it open, I was not surprised to see him read the following…
“1492 is coming for you – MM.”
Blood drained from Alan’s face, “My God, she knows.”
(Poppycock. Miriam doesn’t get revelations like I do, so she would have no way of knowing what’s going on here. Oh, it’s true that she does have another source for her information, but I doubt that Gabriel would be talking to her of Alan’s escapades with an intern).
As if he didn’t have enough drama already, I saw that Alan also now realized something else — he had to leave – immediately.
“Can I risk going to Rome now?” He wondered. “Perhaps Benedict will have to wait?”
Racing to the bathroom, he splashed his face with cool water. Then, looking in the mirror, “My God, what if Benedict is in danger, too?
“Is Teri mixed up in this? Is she a part of some mad plot to assassinate Bill Bates? Or Benedict? Or, God forbid – both of them?”
And, after looking at himself for a long while, “And where does Miriam fit in? Or The Brotherhood?”
Knowing there were no answers to his questions, Alan merely resolved to do that which was in his power, “I know not where Miriam may be now, but one thing I do know – I WILL see Benedict.”
Quickly then, he prepared to leave. Thankfully, this was made all the easier by his advance preparations – for this was not the first time that “Alan Zarus” had been required to abandon his life in a rush. Trying to remain calm, I watched as he flipped a switch in the rear of his closet that triggered a secret access panel which opened to reveal a small hideaway.
(Alan always was into the whole cloak and dagger scene. I actually think he fancied himself as James Bond or something. After all, Alan was suave, debonair, and into the finer things in life. BUT, and this is a BIG but, Alan never had much of a way with women – as you have just witnessed – and he was quite a pansy when it came to violence, so I think Mr. Bond is pretty safe – he doesn’t have much competition from my friend Alan).
Reaching inside the hideaway, Alan pulled forth a pre-packed leather carryall which was filled with all the essentials he would need to retreat into hiding — until it would be safe for him to resurface elsewhere, under a new identity.
After making his way back out of the apartment, there was then only one more stop that I knew he had to make before he could truly escape the danger that was chasing him (again)…
In my dream world with Alan Zarus, it was now past 3 am; yet I knew that my friend had no choice but to tarry to the downtown sector and visit Casa de Economii si Consemnatiuni – that’s the local CEC Bank, whose impressive palace on Calea Victoriei in Bucharest held Alan’s most prized possession.
Luckily for him, Alan has a Vaccine Passport and Identichip that gave him near limitless movement privileges (how he got those freedoms is another story). He also remembered to wear his face mask – in his case a top of the line Nano Mask Platinum. He needed all of that to complete his journey this evening because he was stopped by three different patrols on his way to the bank – yet after scanning his credentials all three let him pass without problems.
Just as important as his freedom apps, Alan had long ago arranged for Elitist status with the bank and thus had been given his own access code which allowed him round-the-clock access to a private, backdoor entrance from which he could gain admittance to the Unknown Catacombs.
Now let’s understand something – Alan could not simply walk up to the back of the CEC, insert a simple key card, and then enter the secret vaults. Nor did he have to walk down some back alley and give a clandestine password to a pair of eyes belonging to an unknown bouncer behind a nondescript door slot. In point of fact, to anyone observing Alan on this night, it did not appear that he was actually attempting to gain access to the CEC at all; for in reality, Alan never approached the bank building, but instead entered into a seemingly normal row house about a block away.
Once inside, he made his way to apartment 1G, inserted his key, and opened the door to a fully furnished, yet ever unoccupied unit. After locking the door, Alan took off his mask and went immediately to the guest bedroom, where he opened the closet door and parted a mass of clothes to reveal yet another hidden doorway. This portal did in fact require Alan to enter his access code, and then submit to facial, fingerprint, and Identichip scans. Once he passed these tests, he had to speak his name so that the security system could also verify his voice identity. The system then ran one additional check – confirming that no other occupants were presently engaged inside its vaults — and then after successfully completing all this, at last the door opened — revealing a well-lit passageway.
(I told you Alan liked that ‘secret agent’ stuff!)
I watched Alan trudge along a secret walkway that led beneath the streets of Bucharest and down into the CEC’s Catacombs. Just how long the catacombs had been in existence, I couldn’t guess, but I do recall Alan telling me the CEC had been using the former death chambers for more than a century — having converted the various crypts into impenetrable treasure troves for lease to those individuals like himself who could afford to pay the exorbitant rates required to gain the privilege of storing their most secret items in such a place.
Like any of the other magnates who used these unusual deposit boxes, I knew that Alan could only gain access to his own storage location – for only one person was allowed inside the catacombs at a time and while that individual was there, a host of state of the art security measures were in place to ensure that all other crypt-cases were made off limits to the intruder.
And so, after successfully completing a few more security checkpoints, at last Alan arrived at the cache which held his own belongings. Here he paused to catch his breath – for the night was already long, and he was exhausted, yet I’m sure he knew that this was only the beginning of his flight.
Each security cadre in the CEC’s Catacombs had but one and only one key. Not even the bank personnel, at any level, had a copy of the unique skeletons which were required to open the final locks that secured these deposit boxes. Like the others who used these vaults, Alan knew what this meant — if he ever lost his key, whatever he had placed in his hidden tomb would be lost forever.Luckily for him, Alan never lost his key – despite having had it for decades – and he used it now to open his crypt’s portal.
The stone barrier was removed and a muted light was triggered, revealing the lone item inside – a small wooden caisse about one foot long and one-half foot wide. (Sound familiar?) Alan gingerly reached inside and withdrew the smoke-scorched box. Although he had held this small coffin countless times, I saw that Alan was again moved by the magnitude of his most-prized possession.
After more than a few deep breaths, Alan gained the courage required to flip the s-clasp and open the container, “Though they confront us on the Day of Disaster, the Lord will turn our darkness into light!” He prayed, before gasping involuntarily as he gazed at the thin piece of pockmarked iron inside. “Ooohhh….It’s so beautiful.”
(Now here I would have to disagree. You’ve seen this thing — does it look beautiful to you? When that murderer came into my home and then met his own untimely demise when he touched my treasure, was that a beautiful sight? No! So what is Alan talking about?)
Moments passed, but Alan quickly remembered why he was here, thus he closed the casket and placed the box into his leather carryall. Then he proceeded to carefully place his crypt-key inside the storage box and shut the tomb’s portal – effectively rendering this now-locked catacomb forever useless.
After which, Alan retraced his steps out of the Catacombs, and eventually re-emerged into Apartment 1G. The portal closed behind him and he moved the closet clothes back into place, before making his way back to the front door of the flat.
Finally ready to get on with his escape into oblivion, Alan opened the apartment door – only to reveal three murderous (and masked) men waiting for him!
And with that my vision ended – too bad for Alan, but at least I was finally off the hook.
Unable to wake up, I was forced to keep watching my vision of my friend Alan talk with his associate Teri. All this talk about Bates nee Ma’bus taking over the world was a bit much.
I’m an old man and just want some peace. The fact of the matter is that so long as I can keep watching my Phillies play, I don’t really care who runs the world. Now that my team has signed Bryce Harper I’m still expecting a World Series or two so I don’t have time for all this talk about the Antichrist…
Unfortunately He doesn’t care about what I want (as usual), therefore I had no choice but to continue to endure more of this unwanted revelation…
I watched as Alan tried to dispel Teri’s accusations. “And The United Nation’s political practices have been nothing but peaceful. Hell, they’ve even satisfied the Israeli’s! If Mr. Bates and his foundation is driving that then I applaud him. Did you know that the Grand Rabbi’s have invited him to enter The Great Temple at a special ceremony later this year? Furthermore, I happen to know that Pope Francis, Pope Benedict, Rabbi Metzger, and the Ayatollah have taken strides to re-unite their faiths as well – did Bates help initiate that talk too? If so, let me be the first to sing his praises!”
“It’s is all a lie!” Teri burst out. “Francis is clueless on this issue and Benedict does so only for show. It’s a case of keeping your enemies closer. Oh, if you only knew what I know.”
“So tell me!” Alan whined.
“Bates has helped the United Nations secretly build an arsenal of over 200,000 Fire and Brimstone tanks.”
“I’ve heard of no such thing.”
“He’s hand picked four primary military commanders who will orchestrate a population annihilation — he calls them the Four Horsemen.”
“Of the Apocalypse?” Alan laughed. “Come, come, this is hearsay. Surely these tidbits would be newsworthy if they were true.”
Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, by Victor Vasnetsov, c1887
“I see — again with the conspiracies? What about Newsmax and its ilk? Wouldn’t they shine a light on your story if it was true?”
“That’s not even worth a reply – you know The Brotherhood controls the news media. Nothing negative about Bates ever gets out.”
“Rinky dink outfits like that have no power to tell the truth. Why are you being difficult?” Teri grabbed his hand. “You KNOW this fits. Bill Bates IS the Antichrist!”
“Is that all?” Alan pulled his hand back.
At last, Teri went for broke (and surprised even me with what she said next), “Bates has the seven Chairs of Woe in his palace — that means he controls the Armageddon Clock.”
Alan remained calm, yet long moments passed as he stared hard at his assistant. Finally he asked, “Teri, how do YOU know all this?”
“My father was Reverend Antonio Abbracciavento – renowned for his knowledge of one particular book…”
“Revelations,” Alan filled in the blank. “Yes, I was sorry to hear about his passing last year.”
“Thank you. He was a good man.” Teri bowed her head. Then after a pause, she admitted. “I’m not really a Professor of Antiquities.”
“I know.” Alan smiled.
“What? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I figured Benedict has a message for me?”
“He does!”
“Go on.”
“Being a Professor is just a cover; I am a member of The Vatican’s Secret Police – the Personal Attaché for Benedict. The public may think Francis is the chief now that Benedict’s retired, but I’m sure you know the truth – Benedict stepped down so that he could focus exclusively upon his life’s mission. And his mission is now my mission too — to find and stop The Antichrist.”
“I don’t envy you. That’s a tough draw.”
“Come on, Alan. You know I’ve been groomed for it since birth.” Teri said, shoulders back, chin high. Then, pulling a scroll from her baggy purse, “In any case, here is a letter from Pope Benedict XVI. As you can see, the papal seal is still intact. Even I haven’t read its contents.”
“I’m sure.” Alan smirked as he took the missive. Yet before opening it, he tested her once more, “But, why me, Teri? What can I do to help?”
“Alan, don’t play me for a fool. Who else has published the papers on ancient religions and recurring Armageddon’s than you have? I know it’s hard to believe that Bates is really the Antichrist, but I tell you that Benedict IS convinced. You must talk to him.”
“I see.” Alan said, non-committedly.
“Look here. Is it possible that Benedict and I are wrong about Bates? YES. Hell, Alan, we HOPE we are wrong. But, what if Bates IS indeed Satan’s son? Don’t you see, we need your knowledge — you may be the only man who can stop him. That’s why Benedict specifically told me to find YOU.”
Alan remained silent for long moments, before saying, “Well it would seem that you do know quite a bit about The Antichrist. And Bill Bates. Now whether these are the same person, I cannot say.” Before Teri could interrupt, he continued, “But, it would seem that Mr. Bates MIGHT fit the profile, neh? So what do you propose?”
“Read the letter. Benedict wants you to come to Rome.”
“Ah, but I thought you hadn’t read the letter?”
Teri blushed, “I was truthful when I said I didn’t read it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t guess what is says.”
Alan rolled the scroll over — it did indeed carry Benedict’s imprimatur. Breaking the seal, he proceeded to read the short message. “You are correct. Benedict requests my presence in Rome. And yet, he does NOT say anything about Mr. Bates being the Antichrist.”
“You know he could never put something like that in writing under his papal seal!”
“So I am to take your word for it all then?” Alan smiled.
Teri’s jaw jutted out, “What are you going to do?”
“Do I have a choice? Of course I’m going to Rome.”
“Really?” Teri’s face lit up.
At last Alan smiled warmly again. “It was not my intention to give you a hard time, Teri. I can see that you really do believe what you say. That DOES mean something to me.”
Relaxing at last, Teri smiled, “I know it’s late, but why don’t we go to Karl’s Café and enjoy a Bugle to release all this pressure? After all, your time here in Bucharest is obviously over, so let me buy you one last drink.”
Although Alan remained silent, he did not decline. “Oh Hell, why not? But just one, OK?”
“You have my word, Professor.” Teri smiled.
(Somehow I knew she was lying).
Now, in my opinion, a man can do nothing better than to eat, drink, and find satisfaction in his work. Therefore, I was not surprised to see Alan and Teri leave the University and head for Karl’s Café – a speakeasy frequented by the elite of the University crowd who wanted a private venue within which they could enjoy a nostalgic pub that was from a bygone time – namely a place where patrons could enjoy a drink without having to wear face masks or be socially distant.
Karl’s was an establishment that was kept hush from the public since the citizens of Bucharest (and around the world) had long been forced to live in that New New Normal world that had been ushered in with the first Covid plandemic – a world in which large social gatherings were outlawed because of the fear of spreading the virus. Of course, since such laws were more about population control than they were about science, the academics who partnered with the state to produce that made up science and add the weight of their credentials to support said science, also enjoyed the privilege of being able to flaunt the rules – so long as they did it in private. Karl’s Cafe was one such venue that met this need.
Earlier Alan and Teri had vexed one another during their debate about the Antichrist, yet all of that seemed to be behind them now. Hours soon passed and they shared more than a few drinks together, until…
<<RING! DING!> The bartender gave the last call.
“Whoa!” Alan raised his hands to steady himself at the bar. “Clearly all these Bugles have gotten the better of me, eh, Ter?” And he smiled as he laid his head on her shoulder.
“Oh, Alan, tomorrow is so unknown. I’m happy we shared this time, but what will happen now?”
Alan smiled back through a misty haze and sighed, “Yes, I wish this night would never end.”
At that, Teri placed her hand softly on Alan’s knee and whispered into his ear, “It doesn’t have to end yet…”
With Teri’s allure racing through his veins, Alan apparently found himself unable to resist her offer.
(Now, as I told you before, I have no control over these visions and it’s not like a TV where I can change the channel. I get what I get. In this case, it appeared that I was about to see my friend get intimate with his work partner. Gee, I’m not sure the University would approve, Alan.)
Less than twenty minutes later, the pair were in Teri’s cramped apartment, on her bed, undressing one another between passionate kisses.
“Oh, Alan,” Teri gasped, ripping off her blouse to reveal a purple brazier, “I’ve wanted this since the first moment I saw you.”
Pulling her close, he kissed her deeply, “You’re lips taste like honey.” But then I saw him pause – just for a moment, and although I could not read his thoughts, I knew him well enough to make an educated guess about what just happened – he’d seen a vision of another woman!
(If so, I knew who it was. For now let’s just call her a beautiful brunette of Hebrew descent and what you need to know is that this person was Alan’s dream girl).
I watched Alan struggle as his mind was playing tricks on him – perhaps making him believe this other woman was calling out to him, reaching for him at last. For a moment, I knew that Alan’s heart leapt at the thought…
Yet, just as quickly I could see his soul sink – for if he did get a flash of his lost love, then I knew that seeing this other woman would only cause an old wound to be ripped open.
In the end, it was Teri who broke the spell, kissing Alan on the neck and bringing him back to the present moment. Apparently this worked, because Alan refocused his attention on the beautiful woman before him, growling hungrily as he kissed her back, “I’ve never seen a beauty like you.”
“Let me show you more, Professor,” she said in a husky voice, pulling Alan down to her.
(Whoa, hold on there, Alan, did you hear what she just quoted?)
Suddenly Alan pulled back from the point of no return, “What did you say?!?”
Shocked at the break in their passions, Teri struggled to take in Alan’s retreat. “What? I don’t know.” Then, kissing him and attempting to pull him back, “Come, lover, come to—“
But Alan remained apart. I don’t know if he realized what Teri just quoted from or if instead he felt guilty due to a flood of images of that Hebrew woman, but regardless I heard him say, “I’m sorry, Teri. I can’t do this. It’s wrong for me to disrespect you like this. I’m so sorry.” And he hurriedly gathered up his things.
For a moment, I thought Teri would try to stop him, yet interestingly enough, she did not. And even as Alan hastily threw on his clothes and continued to apologize, Teri remained uncovered on her bed.
As Alan opened the door to leave, Teri merely slithered, “See you in Rome, Love.”
The very next day, I was lucky enough to get yet another vision – oh joy. And I’m gonna warn you right upfront that this is a loooong vision – I had to endure it and so will you, so grab some coffee and try to stay with me.
This time I witnessed a very different scene taking shape – yet one which posed no less of a threat to its players…
With the evening meal over, a pleasant fire now crackled inside the professor’s lounge of Bucharest University. Appointed with a host of overstuffed leather chairs, polished hardwood floors, and with walls of the finest Brasovian oak, I personally thought the lounge looked rather stuffy, but I guess these staunch academic types felt otherwise. The room was mostly empty but for a few lone readers scattered around the room and another pair talking softly in a corner.
“Professor, you never cease to amaze me,” a twenty-something woman said to her friend as the pair sat in a corner of the dons’ sanctuary.
“What makes you say that, Teri?” The man chuckled softly.
Like the others in the room, the pair in conversation were sans masks. The reason for the lack of masks was simple – while the students at the university and the local townsfolk were required to wear them as part of the on-going pandemic control safety protocols, the professors were exempt. Why? Recall that the academic were the ones behind the Follow the Science propaganda and as such, not only did they know the science (i.e. that masks do not work to stop the spread of viruses like Covid) but just as importantly the academics were part of the Animal Farm crowd who ascribed to the motto “Rules for Thee, but not for Me,” thus when the public didn’t see, the academics (like their political friends) happily flaunted the Covid Rules.
In any event, while I didn’t know the woman, I immediately recognized my friend Laz — , er, He’d probably want me to tell you his name was Alan… Zarus.
“It’s been two months now since we started our venture,” The woman coyly pestered, as she took another sip of her plum brandy Bugle, “perhaps others still view me as simply Teri Abbracciavento, the visiting lecturerfrom Rome, but I am YOUR Conferentiar now and I think the least you can do is know how to spell my name”
“Nonsense,” Alan took a puff on his pipe, then smiled winsomely, “Your last name is no mystery to me.”
Teri seemingly melted under Alan’s smile – as, I knew, had many of his students.
If you looked at Alan, you’d guess that he was only in his early 40’s. Taller than me, he stood perhaps an inch or two over six feet, and unlike me Alan was still in perfect shape. Blessed with a ridiculously perfect olive complexion, he had a feathery blonde coif and one of those superman jaw lines that apparently drive women wild. And although Alan had some rather cliché ocean blues, the depth of his gaze could captivate men and women alike. In short, he had a face that would make even a man jealous!
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Even still, I had eyes for his partner.
For Teri was curvy like a renaissance statue, with the silky hair of a raven, dark eyebrows, and endlessly full lips. Although dressed in a scarlet business suit and wearing horn-rimmed glasses, even these professional accoutrements could not hide her alluring beauty.
(Hey, I may be an old man, but I know a looker when I see one.)
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With total confidence, Alan gamely ventured, “I know how to spell your name. It’s A-B-B-R-A-C-I-A-V-E-N-T-O.”
If she had butterflies in her stomach from Alan’s gaze, Teri didn’t let them show, “Sorry, Alan, but you’re mistaken. There are TWO C’s in Abbracciavento!” And giggling, she poured herself another drink, while filling a new glass for Alan as well.
“Touche.” Alan submitted, picking up the snifter.
“All right, so getting back to business,” Teri put her spectacles back on, “So, are you in agreement with the popular theory that Romania’s culture was indelibly changed after the Battle of Sarmizegetusa in 106 AD? Or do you agree with me that even if Trajan had not completed his conquest, Roman culture would still have dominated this land?”
Battle of Sarmizegetusa by Angel Garcia Pinto
Alan drew two long puffs on his pipe, “Well, there’s no doubt some Roman ideology would have permeated this land, but I can’t overlook the potential for a subsequent domination by later Eurasian influences. How does your theory account for that?”
And so did the professional banter drift on. The Bucharest Bugles continued and the pair relaxed further. Hours lazily waned by, even as other professors retired for the night – being sure to put on their masks before they entered the public eye again . Eventually, just the two of them remained and then it was that Teri leaned close, “Alan, can I trust you?”
(Ah, perhaps we’re finally getting somewhere with this vision?)
Alan however held up a hand to pre-empt her apparent advance.
(Despite his looks, sadly Alan never made use of his talents. In fact I watched him turn off many a woman over the years. Fool.)
Standing up, he said stiffly, “Teri, if I’ve led you on in any way, I apol—“
“No, it’s not like that. This is important. Sit down. Please.”
Yet when Alan remained standing, Teri grabbed his arm and said desperately, “Alan, what do you know about…the Antichrist?”
(Bingo! There it is.)
I watched as Alan’s eyes narrowed at his associate’s unusual question. Through thin lips he replied, “Is this some sort of joke? I am a Professor of Antiquities, why are you asking me?”
“Come off it, we both know your specialize in religious antiquities.” Teri argued. “Master Alan Zarus – presently the Sef de Catadre of Bucharest’s History Department — a post you have held for over a decade. Prior to that, the Dean for Antioch’s Historical Society. Before that, Jerusa-“
(Uh oh, Alan’s not going to like where she’s going…)
“Enough!” Alan slammed his hand down on the coffee table. (See, I told you). “Tell me what’s going on, or I’ll have you removed from University grounds immediately.”
“I think the Antichrist is alive today — and I know who it is!”
For the briefest of moments, I watched a flicker of whiteness cascade down Alan’s face, yet just as quickly it passed and he covered it up by playing along, “Ah, I see. And who might this Antichrist of yours be?”
“The Antichrist is…” Teri hesitated, “Bill Bates!”
Alan immediately let out a guffaw and made a show of clapping his hands, “Bravo, Teri. For a moment I thought you were serious, now I see you’ve just had a few too many Bugles, neh?” And he smiled as he raised his glass.
Teri pulled Alan’s glass back down. “I’m serious.”
Alan raised an eyebrow, “Why that’s absurd — Mr. Bates is literally on fire for saving our world, surely you’ve see his TED talks on the internet.”
“It’s well accepted that the Antichrist will be a mesmerizing speaker.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then are you also condemning Pope Francis? President Trump? Even Tony Robbins? These are inspiring speakers too. Come now, what are your real marks are against Mr. Bates? That he’s a self-made tech billionaire? That he created a plan to vaccinate the world? That he owns more farmland in American than anyone else? That he’s got a plan to cool down the sun? Surely, these don’t qualify him as The Antichrist, Teri, if anything the man is our savior.”
“Haven’t you ever found it odd that Mr. Bates is so involved…in everything? Our Health. Our Education. Food Supply. Our Climate. Our entire world. He’s using his unlimited funding to gain control of nearly every aspect of our life thus allowing him to influence anyone, to lead everyone.”
“I’m sensing some bigotry here, Ms. Abbracciavento. This is not what I expected of you.”
“William Henry Bates III — that’s his full name.” Teri forged ahead.
“And?”
“But did you know he also plans to a Muslim name?”
“I heard something about that.” Alan was dismissive. “The rumor started after his foundation began their White Privilege reeducation programs and he made a big show of participating himself. So what?”
“The program isn’t important. Like so many others it was simply virtue signaling. What matters is the secret name he took at the time and that he plans to reveal to the world soon.”
“OK, what was the name?”
“Bill Bates took the Muslim name Ghaz al’ Ridwan Ma’bus.”
“Intriguing, but beyond that why does this even matter?”
“Each section of his Muslim name has 6 letters. Don’t you see, Alan, he’s going to openly showcase a name that means 6-6-6!”
Click to read more about The AntiChrist
“The number of The Beast.” Alan’s face went pale, (and even I felt a shiver run down my spine), yet Alan recovered quickly and I watched as he wrote out Bates new name, “Each section equals 6-6-6 only if you consider the al to be a part of the first name and only if you count the apostrophe in Ma’bus. That’s bad science in my book. Please tell me you have more.”
Teri didn’t miss a beat, “The name he’s taking is significant also because of what it means. ‘Ghaz’ means ‘conqueror.’ And ‘Ridwan’ means ‘Keeper of the Bates of Heaven.’ And ‘Mabus’ is an ancient Arabic word for ‘Lion’. The Beast who conquers the gates of Heaven!”
“I could argue that his name means The Noble Lion, Defender of Heaven. After all, Mr. Bates actions have HELPED the world, not harmed it. What Antichrist would do that?”
“You’re only being difficult! The seer Nostradamus predicted the Antichrist’s name to be Ma’bus — It’s a perfect match. Why would Bates take that name other than to proclaim himself to the world as The Beast?”
(Nostradamus? What a charlatan. Don’t listen to what that fool says).
“A coincidence.” Alan replied. “Nostradamus’ visions have been rehashed to fit nearly every world event in the last two centuries. I don’t know any credible scholar who considers them to be anything but worthless.”
Teri sat back in her chair – frustrated. After a pause, she tried again, “You know as well as I that the Coronavirus was a PLANdemic that Bates’ organization helped create in order to usher in the Great Reset era for he and his globalist friends. And you know all about his Vaccine Passports and IdentiChips that pretty much everyone is required to have now in order to participate in society – you can’t work, can’t go to school, can’t even buy groceries without showing you are compliant with the governments health and safety protocols – rules for society that Bates helped fashion! His IdentiChips helped governments destroy Bitcoin and the other cryptocurrencies and replace them with the G-Yuan that they control – all while making gold and silver illegal mediums for commerce and thus allowing total government control of commerce via Bates’ IdentiChips. Need I remind you of this verse: ‘And he forced everyone to receive a mark, so that none could buy or sell unless he had the mark…of the beast.’ Revelations Chapter 13, Verse 16-17.”
(Interesting — you could say I am a bit familiar with that work….)
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“Such an advancement has been years in the making. I don’t mind my Identichip implant – I got it back in 2022 and honestly I don’t even know it’s there. As for the Vaccine Passports, let’s remember that they helped our world return to some semblance of normalcy after the crisis. And I love using my G-Yuans – it’s very convenient to not have to carry Euro’s anymore.”
“Alan, suppose for just a moment that Bates IS the Antichrist. Don’t you see, whether you use a G-Yuan – which has his name and image on it – or the IdentiChip – which has the bi-numeric version of his Muslim name embedded as a security code – either way, you WILL be carrying the mark of the beast.”
Alan didn’t reply.
“How does a college drop-out with no medical training become the world’s leading authority on vaccines? Why did he purchase the entire supply chain of the food industry?” Teri interrupted, “Why did he partner with the United Nations and World Economic Forum to reset the world away from Capitalism – the system in which he made all his money – and replace it with the de facto totalitarian society we now have? And how does he accomplish all of this in just a few years? Such things are just not possible.”
“I’ll grant you that what he was able to accomplish so quickly IS mind-boggling, but again, NOT impossible. After all, we live in a fast-paced world — companies and countries that existed for decades can fall overnight. So why couldn’t someone like Bates remake the world just as quickly – especially if it’s all for our own good?”
“I say again that there’s no way someone with no political or medical experience could emerge from the shadows and change the world like Bates has done. Unless he had help. And there’s only one group with this kind of power — The Brotherhood of the Earth. I believe The Brotherhood is behind The Great Reset and that they used the Covid plandmic to–”
“Just a moment — what’s this about a mysterious Brotherhood? Are you turning into a conspiracy theorist on me, Teri?”
(There’s another mention of The Brotherhood. I guess I will need to tell you about them, huh?)
“DON’T go there on The Brotherhood, Alan.”
There was something in the way that Teri spoke that caused Alan to be taken aback, as a result, he stopped joking and instead mumbled, “Er, so back to Mr. Bates — I say he is a genius, not someone to be feared.”
“And the world will love him.” Teri cautioned. “We both know that the Antichrist will NOT be feared…at first. But these are dangerous times — the world is still in turmoil. Economies have not really recovered from the devastating effects of the Covid and Climate lockdowns – despite Bates great ideas and for which he has already been praised. The standard of living is going DOWN across the globe – for all but the technocrats behind The Great Reset. Look at the German Revolt last year. And the problems in Japan this year. The time is ripe for ONE person to step up and draw the world together. Did you know there’s a movement at the UN to elect Bates as World President?”
“Putin and Xi would never allow that.”
“You’re blind like so many others, Alan. You missed the Big Coup that Bates and his cronies have already completed. Don’t you remember how they got rid of President Trump?”
“If you’re promoting an election fraud conspiracy I’ll pass. The United States Supreme Court dismissed that notion.”
“They didn’t even hear the case. You know as well as I that President Trump won the 2020 US election in a landslide. He was well on his way to reelection – until the Covid pandemic hit. Then it was that doctors Tony Flipflop and Deborah Virx were planted on his team to help create the fear propaganda necessary to implement lockdowns. Then it was that mail-in voting laws were expanded to allow for massive voter fraud. Poor Joe Biden couldn’t stop his dementia from admitting as much. And yet, Donald Trump had such massive support among his voter base that, if not for a coordinated plan to stop the vote count at midnight in the swing states, he would have easily prevailed.”
“Again, none of this matters to me. History is what is recorded. Election fraud in the US or elsewhere is nothing new. What does any of this have to do with your Bates’ theories?”
“There was no way Donald Trump was going to be reelected. He could have gotten 100 million votes and it wouldn’t have been enough. The Brotherhood’s operatives were ready to deliver as many computer vote dumps and ballot truckloads as needed. There was no way the cabal would have allowed a reelection because of President Trump’s anti-globalist agenda.”
“If I follow your logic, you’re suggesting that Trump had to go in order for The Great Reset to occur?”
“Exactly.” Teri smiled. “He never had a chance. This was about control by the United Nations and The Brotherhood. Trump was not only America-First but most importantly he was an anti-establishment wildcard who rebelled against the idea of Agenda 2030 and the One World Government.”
“And your point to all this?”
“When they removed President Trump from power and used the Covid lockdowns to bankrupt nations around the glob, Bates and the United Nations won World War III – they gained control over every nation – all without firing a single bomb.”
OK, let me stop for a minute here because I can see that you are having a bit of a problem. So go ahead, let’s get it out on the table – ask me your questions…
Who am I?
Well, I told you, I’m John — John Salom.
How do I get these revelations?
Again, I just told you the answer to that too – I don’t have any control over my visions, I get whatever He sends me. Apparently He still thinks I care.
But take a look at this and tell me if YOU’D like to keep seeing stuff like this for over 2,000 years?!?
Hieronymus Bosch The Last Judgment
How do my revelations work?
I’m not really sure, except to say that I have received them both during the day while awake – kind of like a daydream – and at night while sleeping. Nonetheless, while hours or days could pass during a vision, when I return to MY reality, it’s as if only the blink of an eye has passed.
Who is “He” that gives me my revelations?
I was waiting for you to ask me that.
Would you think I’m crazy if I said that “He” is Jesus of Nazareth?
Oh, so you DO think I’m just a crazy old man, huh?
That’s fine – it means that we finally agree on something!
What’s my mission?
Actually it’s called The Commission, but from my perspective I don’t have a mission anymore because I am long past caring.
Well what WAS The Commission?
Hmm. You’re not ready for that answer yet.
Why am I telling you all this?
Well, let’s just say I am doing a good deed as part of my penance.
Now why He couldn’t have just let me say 1,000 Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s, I don’t know, but this is what He came up with – said it would be ‘a good use of my talents again.’ I guess YOU will have to be the judge of that.
Teodor Axentowicz The Anchorite
Where am I at right now?
Ha — you’re definitely not ready for that!
OK, enough with the questions. Gee whiz, we’ll be here all night if we don’t keep moving on.
Meanwhile, half a world away, another older gentleman was also in a good mood…
(Like I said before, you’re just gonna have to take my word on it as to how I know things like this. Let’s just say, I have visions – oh you can call them revelations if you like but to be honest I’m a bit tired of that term. And no my visions are not some crazy side effect from the Covid vaccine – there’s plenty of those to go around but this ain’t one of them. Don’t worry about how it works, I’ll explain more in a bit, but for now, it will be easier for both of us if you would simply let it be and trust me that I AM telling you the truth).
And so I watched as Joseph Alois Ratzinger was nearing the end of a rare public appearance. In this case the ‘public’ aspect was via webcam since virtual news had remained the norm due to the never-ending pandemic. More importantly though, does the NAME of the man ring a bell for you?
If not let me help you. Officially ol’ Joe had retired in 2013, although I knew he’d tried to get out of the rat race long before then – in fact even before he had stepped down from the ‘big chair’ Joe often told me all he really desired was to “rest, maybe write a bit, and perhaps enjoy his old age.”
The fact is, Joe had never wanted to rise to the top of his profession in the first place and, prior to attaining that rank, he’d actually gone so far as to submit his formal resignation on three separate occasions — yet each time his prior boss had talked him out of it.
I told him countless time to just quit and be done with it all, but he didn’t listen to me and in the end, Joe had remained obedient to his superior’s wishes eventually he became The Big Boss himself.
Even still, it’s common knowledge that Joe’s allegiance to his company has done nothing to help his health concerns. His past and present conditions read like a laundry list of serious medical dilemmas:
hemorrhagic stroke in 1991;
serious fall and head trauma in 1992 (I can relate to that one!);
another stroke in 2004;
chronic heart palpitations and a case of serious bronchitis in 2006;
a broken ankle in 2009 (and when you’re 81 years old that’s a big deal);
he was living now with a pacemaker and chronic high blood pressure;
and the list went on and on – poor Joe.
All of these aches and pains lead to his formal resignation in early 2013 – and while it’s not newsworthy when most people retire, for my friend it was a big deal.
If you don’t know my friend yet, let me clue you in…
Joseph Ratzinger is perhaps better known to you as Benedict XVI — Pope Emeritus of the Catholic Church.
As for his ‘retirement,’ did you know that Joe was the first pope to step down since the year 1415?
For you math wizards that basically means that no pope has voluntarily retired for over 600 years – they’re pretty much expected to die in office.
As for that previous abdicator, it was Pope Gregory XII – I’m sure you don’t remember him, but trust me when I tell you that when Gregory XII stepped down it was was a really big deal back then – oh the scandal! Believe me I know, after all I was there to see it all.
But Joe is cut from a different cloth – he had no intention of letting the wolf pack otherwise known as The College of Cardinals salivate around his death bed while they conspire around him on who will be the next Pope.
Instead he came up with a new exit strategy – install a puppet for his figurehead and wield power behind the scenes – after all he’d seen Dick Cheney do this very effectively during the GW Bush Administration of US Politics and I’m sure Joe figured he was at least as smart at the gun-totting American VP.
Enter Jorge Mario Bergoglio – the charismatic Jesuit from South America was the ideal solution for Joseph. Jorge took the name Pope Francis, Joe happily passed the baton to him, Francis became the doll of the news, and Joe sailed off to the sunset. The perfect cover for a man in power.
Which brings us back to today – with Joe having to endure an interview from the fake press.
Knowing he only had a short time left in this world, I knew how much Joe despised wasting any of it on personal interviews like the one he was presently enduring – that’s what the new guy Francis was supposed to be for. Yet somehow Joe had apparently agreed to do this appearance and thus here he was, trying to maintain a happy face in front of his computer.
“Do you have any final words for the people of America, Your Eminence?” The virtual interviewer asked. “Although the United Nations and World Health Organization partnered with governments around the world to help us build back better after the first pandemic, our planet continues to struggle from the devastating damaged caused by capitalism for so long. Many in my country of America still fear the partnership between the United Nations and The Bates Foundation as they roll-out an Identichip that’s tied to a ‘one-world’ digital currency. I’m talking here about the groundbreaking Crypto Yuan that’s endorsed by The World Economic Forum and its members as not only a replacement for the outdated US Dollar but a new kind of currency completely – one that not only offers the benefits of first-generation cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin, but also adds the all-important social credit system to the equation so that we can help ensure our citizens live their lives in a globally sustainable manner. Do you favor or oppose this new currency system?”
Realizing that this was the final question from his prep list, my friend’s face lit up and he exhibited the charisma which had undoubtedly been the reason why he had been elevated to his present position…
“My children, if we let Christ fully enter our lives, are we not afraid that he might take something away from us too?”
And after a pause, Joe answered his own question, “No! Don’t you see, if we let Christ in, we lose absolutely nothing of what makes life free, beautiful, and great! Instead, only in this friendship with Him do we experience liberation. When we give ourselves to Him, we receive back a hundredfold in return! Focus not on your personal liberty. Forget the reality of your present lockdown life. Do not pine for what once was. Instead, I say open wide the doors to Christ – and you will find true life. We are all ONE people. ONE Body in our Lord Jesus Christ. If this is true, why not have ONE currency? Nay, even ONE world government! My Children, there is nothing to fear and only peace and freedom for ALL to gain…”
Less than an hour later, I watched the Pope as he relaxed in private in his apartments.
(BTW, I’m still going to call Joe “The Pope” because, as I’ve already mentioned, Joe continues to pull the strings in The Vatican and thus the figurehead that is Pope Francis is barely in this story).
While alone, Joe disregarded his formal papal garments – his red satin mozzetta, wide-brimmed saturno, and yes, even those neo-traditional red papal shoes that everyone thinks he fancies.
Do these look comfortable?
Oh those colorful shoes! I remember how he had worked hard to bring them back to popularity (with the help of Prada and a sizable “donation” to Joe’s personal rainy-day fund!), yet each time he wore them now, I knew that he bitterly despised them – for he always complained how they were so uncomfortable. (I kept telling him to try them on before he endorsed them, but once again he didn’t listen to me.)
Nonetheless, The Pope was now dressed in a luxurious silk robe, whilst plush slippers caressed his overworked feet. Letting the cares of the outside world melt away, I watched Joe press a button to deactivate all the cameras and interactive media devices in the room, after which he traipsed over to his wet bar and poured himself a tall glass of a German honey-flavored liqueur called Barenjager.
(Personally, I’m not a fan of German liqueurs, I like the harder stuff – Jack, Wild Turkey, a good grain alcohol, any of those and some ice will do the trick for me – but Joseph was always a connoisseur. In terms of this present liqueur, he previously explained to me that most Barenjagers that were exported from Germany were between 60-90 proof, however, given his position, Joseph now had access to a private label reserve from Teucke & Koenig, and as such, his version – called Barenfang – was actually a 95 proof product – much to his delight).
As he took a big sip of the drink, Joe smiled as he looked upon the label on his bottle – a cartoon of a bear drinking the liquor – a picture far different from that shown on most of the commercial bottles of Barenjager (which usually showed a fur trapper catching the bear).
“Give me neither poverty nor riches, but only my daily bread.” As he finished the smooth spirit and poured himself another, “Ah, and a little of this stuff too, neh?”
Strolling over to the corner of his living room, he sat down at his Fazioli grand piano. Immediately no less than three of his feline friends scampered to join him.
(Yuck — I absolutely hate cats! But Joseph had long had an affinity for them and as such the Vatican had become quite infested with them since he rose to power. Francis tried to quell the tide but so far had been unsuccessful – the cats still ruled).
“Amadeus, come here…. Adolf, you rascal! Ah, and, Deter, my love.” He happily nuzzled all three. (Deter was always his favorite, but don’t ask me why – they all look the same to me). “OK, boys, let me play for you, please.”
And after taking another sip of his Barenfang, I watched as my friend proceeded to lose himself in his music – whilst his cats curled up against him and purred contentedly.
Yet suddenly one of the cats hissed, causing the other two to bound off in fright. “What is it, Deter?” Joseph stopped playing and looked down at his friend, seeing the cat’s entire body bowed up.
“I believe that’s Mozart’s Piano Concerto Number 21.” Said an unexpected voice that I didn’t recognize.
“His music is by no means just entertainment,” Joseph replied, without turning around. “It contains the whole tragedy of human existence.” For a brief moment, his body tensed at the intrusion, whilst he whispered, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do…”
And yet, outwardly, he refused to let his surprise show; instead he took another long sip of his drink, placed Deter on the floor so his friend could scamper away to safety, and then smiled as finally he turned around to face his visitor.
“Ah, I see there are two of you this time?” The Pope commented dryly, observing his guests.
Both men were dressed in black robes, Nano Masks, and gloves – although I knew that neither was a member of the clergy or on staff at the Vatican. Their ebon garments and face masks clashed terribly with the stark whiteness of their skin, their fair hair, and their light eyes. Stoic and stiff, they might well have been twins for all that they looked so much alike, and yet, like me, Joseph knew they were not.
“Hello…Your Grace.” One of the men stepped forward, his voice sounding clear due to the masks high-tech design.
The Pope did not reply. Nor did he bother to put on gloves or a mask himself (like me he knew masks were useless). Instead Joe followed protocol, rose up to stand before the intruders, and then proceeded to offer his bare hand in formal greeting.
Despite the outdated (and now illegal) form of greeting, each of the gloved men took the Pope’s hand and shook it, being sure to allow their middle finger to entwine with his during the shake in order to verify their identity.
“The Viper coils…” One of the men said.
“And its strike is deadly…” Added the second.
“To the uninitiated.” The first man finished the greeting.
“Bruders.” Joseph smiled slyly, “Welcome. I was expecting you. Don’t worry, we are unwatched and can speak openly”
My vision of the Pope and his ‘friends’ continued, and an hour quickly passed while the conspirators conversed. German was the language spoken at this meeting – native to all three — but I had no trouble following along. Given their continued wearing of masks, I realized these were only low to mid level operatives, so I was curious as to why Joe would even be bothering with them.
“The date, Your Grace?” Asked one of the masked men.
“Ah, that’s the beauty of it.” Joseph smiled. “I assume you know about the meeting at Mount Moriah?”
“You mean Har haBáyit – The Temple Mount?” The other Brother questioned.
“I’m surprised that you would know the Hebrew word,” Joseph snickered. And before either of the men could reply, he continued. “December 21st. That is the date. And the mosque at al-Aqsa there on the mount is the site.”
(Please understand I had no idea what they were plotting so this was all news to me. Sure, I get these revelations but to be honest they are not all that revealing if you ask me. It’s not something over which I have any control – whatever He chooses to send me is what I get. Also I am not omnipotent or anything. Hell, I don’t even have control of when the visions appear! And when I’m watching, although I can see the people pretty good and hear what they are saying, I can’t read their minds or anything so I don’t know what they are really thinking. Thus, I had no idea what Joe was up to).
“You are certain?” the second assassin slithered, the sound of him sucking air through the ventilator holes in his mask repulsive.. “There can be no mistake. If BAVI is really The One, then he must be there.”
“Fool.” Joseph replied. “You need not worry about my intelligence findings. Marrollo has assured me that BAVI will be there. And yes, he IS the key figure. After all, it is his blood which will complete the… ah… Grand Ritual.”
(Hmmm. Was I watching a plot to assassinate someone? And with the old pontiff at the head? Who was this BAVI they were talking about? It was obviously a code word and given that Joe had deactivated all The Eyes in his room it had to be someone important. I’ll admit, it was interesting, in a passing fancy sort of way, and had I been younger, I might have still cared about the implications of what they were discussing. However, as it was, whether Joe and his buddies killed one man or a hundred, that was their business. Nobody can give me what I really want so what do I care what happens to BAVI or anyone else?)
“The whole world loves BAVI – just like he so desperately wants.” The first assassin mocked. “Why he might as well be The Second Coming for all the praise he is getting.”
“They will grow to dread him soon enough.” Joseph replied.
“Remember — though the wicked spring up like grass, they will be forever destroyed in the end. When our plans are completed, BAVI will be reviled for the villain he truly is.”
“And the Jews are on board with all this?” The first man laughed, his loose tongue perhaps showing some of the effects of the Barenfang.
“That’s the beauty of Marrollo’s foreign planning.” Joseph explained, taking the other’s glass away from him and setting it down. Yet, after thinking twice, he picked the drink back up and downed it himself. (That’s my boy!) “That’s too good to go to waste.” He smiled, before getting serious again. “Chief Rabbi Metzger believes he is really the one responsible for setting up the December 21st event. It’s all part of BAVI’s grant to support Metzger’s Interfaith Dialogue mission. Why he’s already erected an altar on Temple Mount to mark the new holiday that will be created.”
“And you will be there too, Your Excellency?” the first man was salivating in his excitement.
“Naturally, for Metzger has asked the Ayatollah and I to join him in consecrating the grand altar to The One True God that we all serve. And BAVI will be the guest of honor in recognition for his many technologies saving our world from so many disasters.” And with a chuckle Joe added, “However manufactured those crises might be.”
“Glory be! I can’t wait to see BAVI delivered upon the altar to the destiny he deserves.”
“I suppose Evil comes to him who searches for it, eh?” The Pope let the thought hang ominously, even as all three conspirators nodded to one another and smiled.
(Just then my vision ended. Interesting? Yes, but like I said, had I cared, I probably would have made arrangements to visit with Joe and get the scoop. As it was I was just thankful when the vision ended so I could get some sleep.)
Now, you’re just going to have to trust me on this next part as to how I know what I know, but for the time being, just take my word on this, OK?
So after my assailant confirmed I was dead, he held his blade up, watching my crimson-grey blood cascade down the metal. That’s when he did something that might shock you – in spite of not knowing my Covid-status, and even though he was definitely NOT socially distant as he continued to straddle my body, my attacker took off his face mask! (Oh the horror, right?)
Yet what he did next might make you run for the hills.
“I wonder…” The goon said as he brought the knife to his mouth and licked his tongue along the shank. “BLAH! PLUFF! Why, it tastes like… dusty moth balls? Baron, don’t tell me you’ve been crazy enough to experiment on yourself too?”
Unfortunately for him, I was in no condition to reply. However in a rather ironic twist, the record player hadn’t been disturbed by all this commotion and was still playing the Jim Reeves Anthology — now softly sounding Guilty through the speakers…
Dufus that he was, the intruder never noticed this cruel coincidence. Instead he put his face mask back on and then continued the task that he came here for – ransacking his way through my home, he pulled down rows of dusty books from built-in shelves, broke open my dilapidated cabinets, and cleared my closets of rummage, whiskey bottles, and even my dirty laundry — looking anywhere and everywhere for but one specific treasure.
It wasn’t gold, food, toilet paper, my stash of counterfeit Immunity Passes, or anything that held worldly value – for even though I plenty of those rare commodities, my intruder as after… something else.
(Fool! He has no idea what he’s about to do. But, whatever happens, YOU are here to witness that it wasn’t my fault, right?)
For a moment the masked brute paused in thought as he stood among feathers still floating in the air after slashing my mattress (yeah right, like I would hide It in there?). “C’mon, I know it’s here somewhere.” And he scanned the room, until finally, “Aha — the TV!”
And in a flash, he bounded back into my living room.
I still lay motionless in an ever-growing pool of blood, yet the murderer paid me no mind as his eyes searched for something specific – for it wasn’t really the TV he was after.
When he couldn’t readily locate his desire, he took a step back behind the Laz-E-Boy and retraced the steps of his intrusion; throwing a shadow punch or two to mimic his previous assault, and then following along the path of his destruction, finally he came to, ”Yes, I’ve got it!” Kicking the Roku aside, he hungrily grabbed the rectangular box that my rabbit ears had previously sat upon.
“Ha, Antennae Stand my ass,” he ogled the smoke-scorched caisse as he took a seat in my chair, caressing the 10×6” black box. “So this is one of The Three, eh? Oh, my lord is going to be so happy with me — I wonder what kind of reward I’ll get?”
He scanned the sides, trying to see how to open the box. When he located the tiny s-clasp, “What the–? John, you don’t even have this locked?” And flicking off the clasp he then began to open the box “Is that any way to protect one of Jes—“
<Rrraboom-boom-BOOM!>
Thunder shook the house, and the temperature suddenly plummeted – surely sending chills tingling over the man’s body — yet still he looked into the box.
He began to hyperventilate in his mask and his body became gripped in a cold sweat — yet still he looked into the box.
Removing his mask, he took a risk and tried breathing in fresh air, yet his lips began to crack from a sudden parchness and his tongue became as dry as the desert sands — yet even still he looked into the box, totally captivated by the object inside.
Minutes turned to hours while the intruder sat motionless, maskless, and absorbed by what was once my most prized possession.
Until at last, the man began to reach a meaty paw into the case…
<RrraBOOM-BOOM-BOOM!>
Yet, even as he griped the cold relic, he must have realized it was a deadly mistake.
“YAAAWWWPP!” He wailed in agony, flying backwards over the chair. Unable to let go of that which he came for, my murderer’s screams continued for but a moment more, and then he collapsed in a heap, bleeding from ghastly holes in his hands and above his ankles. After only a moment, his shirt began to fill with blood, and I knew that his side had been ripped open as well — allowing his punctured lungs to let flow their contents. Even his hair became matted from the blood that also pulsed forth from the multitude of tiny punctures that wrapped a picket-fence around his scalp.
Oh, please don’t be surprised by any of this, after all, this is the way it always happened – as another would-be burglar died a death infinitely more gruesome than that which he had inflicted on me.
In fact, I myself could tell you this, for I had witnessed the man’s demise.
Rising from a pool of my own blood – and feeling older than ever — I frowned as I looked upon the new mess in my living room, “Hrmpf. I suppose I have to clean up another one.”
I could have checked the man’s IdentiChip to learn more about him, but I didn’t wanna risk activating any 5G sensors in the area by turning on my biometric reader – especially when I knew why the man came anyway. Like all the others he only wanted one thing and that was all I needed to know about him.
Taking a quick breath, I hoisted my intruder-turned-corpse over my shoulder and carried him out through the kitchen door and into my backyard. You might be shocked that I didn’t put on a face mask or that I dared touched another person without knowing their Covid-status, but I’m not a sheep like you so I knew that masks didn’t work against Covid. More importantly I knew the truth about the Covid – it’s a scam! –so complying with a bunch of regulations that were always more about population-control than actual science was never my thing. I’d been around long enough to know a fascist power play like The Great Reset when I see one, and this was wasn’t even hard to recognize because the globalists behind this version of the New World Order didn’t even bother to hide their agenda.
So the technocrats had a new idea to control the world – what do I care? Do what you like, just leave me in peace.
I live on the outskirts of Williamsport, PA – the name of the township is actually called ‘Cogan Station’ – I doubt if you’ve even heard of Williamsport and I KNOW you haven’t heard of Cogan Station – and that’s fine by me. I bring it up now just so you can get an idea of my lifestyle.
I prefer to be alone.
I live in the woods and while there are a number of other home sites nearby, I don’t have any neighbors within shouting (or snitching) distance and that’s the way I like it. My place is located about ten miles off the main road and it’s a good ways into a wooded glade. I have the land cleared out around my house, but there’s still quite a bit of woods that surround me.
All of which means I get to keep my privacy – usually.
Besides the mail (read: spy) drones, every so often I get a visitor – someone from a elderly outreach center (read: contact tracer), or a neighbor who forgets that I don’t like to be disturbed, or perhaps a group of courageous kids who are looking to mess with a known anti-masker like me.
And sometimes I’ll get a visitor like the fellow I got today — which is always a bit of a nuisance.
After I hefted the goon to the yard, I had to catch a breather – thankfully this was easier without a mask to block the fresh country air.
Ahh – I can’t believe this is illegal, I chuckled to myself at the absurdity of all the “New Normal” Covid rules allegedly designed to keep us safer but in reality accomplishing nothing but destroying our freedom.
Now if you saw my lands, you noticed that the rear of my ten-acre property has quite a few dirt piles scattered around; to most people these mounds would probably look like mere compost heaps for my garden — and on the surface they are.
But dig a little deeper and you might be surprised at what you find.
I spent the next hour and a half going digging yet another grave. After I dug the IdentiChip out of his forearm, I gruffly tossed the man into the grave and hauled a bit of compost from another pile to cover the site – burying yet another secret in my yard.
“Hell, I’ve got more skeletons than Dr. Flipflop.” I wiped my forehead with a handkerchief. “I’m gettin’ too old for this crap. God curse your soul, scoundrel. You made me miss my Phillies. Amen!” Then I threw down my shovel and stormed back towards my house. “Hey, maybe I can catch the postgame?”
Yet even as I said it I knew it was a pipedream. First I had to get out my own drone and fly the attacker’s Identichip to a location far away from my house – that took me another hour.
Then I had to drink a beer (or three) to calm down.
Finally I had to clean up inside the house.
When I came to the object that had caused the death of my attacker, I casually picked it up the thin piece of black iron and placed it back into its case.
Too bad this thing couldn’t kill me too, I lamented.
After that I set about the task of trying to get the TV upright again – things didn’t go well at first and I started to let the expletives fly as my anger rose, but just then a new Jim Reeves’ song came filtering out of the stereo speakers – Adios, Amigo.
It was Jim who finally saved my day – for I couldn’t help but sing along with his song, in good cheer at last, “Adios, Amigo. Adios, my friend. The road we have travelled has come to an end…”
Few have seen but a glimpse of Hell, a tatter of Revelation, yet for me it was my Daily Bread; well, that and a good bottle of Jack, and maybe a PBR or two…
My name is John and I’ve got a major problem – again.
Just a few minutes ago I went down to check the mailbox. As always, I waited until the delivery drone was gone – I can’t stand those little spies and I don’t like risking The Eyes seeing me without a face mask on (the last thing I need is another do-gooder from the Elderly Outreach Center paying me a visit to teach me about the benefits of wearing a face mask, how it’s my patriotic duty to keep getting vaxxed against the latest Covid variant that fear-mongering media keeps pushing, and other nonsensical hogwash).
Since the mail delivery location on my farm was down the drive about a football field away from the house, even a casual walk like this caused me to sweat, and I by the time I reach the box I could feel my hair begin to stick in stringy mats to the back of my neck – just perfect.
Worse yet, as soon as I looked down at my stack of mail, I knew I had a problem, because peeking forth from all those damn propaganda flyers about the benefits of the Identichip was an otherwise nondescript piece of airmail — the sight of which sent me into a coughing fit.
Now I wasn’t expecting any letter from overseas and there was no return address, yet even before opening it, I knew who it was from.
“Damn her for doing this to me.” I dropped the rest of the mail and proceeded to tear open the small note. And as new rivulets of sweat poured down my back, I read the following…
1492 is coming for you – MM.
For a moment, a chilling force gripped me – turning my spine to water and causing me to cower down in fear. Yet, the moment quickly passed and when it did my blood began to boil, “She should know I don’t need this crap.” I spat at the letter, before ripping it to shreds and tossing them into the yard.
When I got back inside, I briefly considered changing clothes – I stunk and I knew it. However it had only been three days in these overalls so I wasn’t about to toss them in the laundry pile just yet.
Now, lest you think this I’m just lazy, think again.
OK, OK, it’s true, I always was a bit lazy and laundry was never my thing, but even if it was, it’s not like I had much choice – we were in the middle of another detergent shortage and I wasn’t sure when my next supply ration would be delivered, so rather than worry about washing my clothes I instead got a six pack from the fridge and proceeded to park myself on the raggedy Laz-E-Boy in my living room – thanking my stars that there wasn’t a beer shortage this month.
Off in the corner, my turntable was playing a Jim Reeves’ record – the tune Welcome To My World was presently on, yet the volume was turned down low so that it didn’t compete with the TV since I was still waiting for the baseball game to start (thankfully the government still allowed us peons to have our sports – at least for now).
My electric rations had been reduced again because of the on-going ‘save the planet’ climate battle, so I had the shades pulled down to try to get some measure of relief from the sticky heat that still clung to the evening air. Sure, I could have used some of the stored energy from my solar panels, but I preferred to save that for my tv watching and music – after all, you gotta prioritize right?.
And so, sitting in that half darkness, I picked up my copy of The Williamsport Sun Gazette. Why or how the newspaper was still being printed I couldn’t say – I’m sure it was to try to influence old farts like me who didn’t go online much to believe in the government’s propaganda, but that didn’t work with me because I simply tossed aside everything but the sports section – since that was the only part that could tell about my beloved Philadelphia Phillies.
As I read, I took a sip (or three) of my beer – good ol’ Pabst Blue Ribbon — and settled in to watch the upcoming game. But then, just as the local news was about to end, suddenly the station was interrupted by one of those God-awful, fear-mongering, #FakeNews Special Reports…
“Good evening, friends. We interrupt your local programming to bring you an update on today’s landmark speech by Bill Bates.” The anchorman spoke in that silky baritone they all seem to be born with. “Who is like Mr. Bates? That is the question on everyone’s lips as the world continues to praise perhaps the greatest philanthropist and mental genius of all time!”
“What do I care about Bill Bates?” I screamed at the set, pissed at the interruption.
I supposed I could have just ignored the news and focused on my paper instead. Or maybe you think I could have changed the channel – but let’s not get carried away here – we’re talking about an off-the-grid ’68 Zenith, so changing the channel required getting up to fiddle with a manual dial, and that’s not for me.
Oh don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I still live in the Dark Ages – I know all about cutting the cord on cable and I briefly tried using a Roku for streaming but I didn’t like it – first off because I’m not about to use my UBI credits for a subscription to streaming services that are full of a bunch of programming I don’t watch, and secondly because streaming is just another invitation for Big Tech to monitor me and I’ll pass on that.
That’s why I kept my rabbit ears – sure they’re illegal but who’s gonna know? I get all the local programming I want with that old-time antennae and since nobody ever visits me before I have time to hide them, I had those ears presently perched on a black box that sat atop the tv, next to that unused Roku.
At first I tried tuning out the TV anchorman, but his voice just kept droning on, “As everybody knows, The Bates Foundation’s vaccines saved our world from the Coronavirus pandemic that started back in 2019, and their Vaccine Passports have given us many of our freedoms back.”
What a crock. I thought. Does anyone really believe this nonsense?First off, I never understood why a vaccine was necessary against a coronavirus like Covid. Didn’t people realize that we’d been living with coronaviruses for centuries? Why would someone want to take a vaccine that has a higher chance of giving them a side effect than it did of actually preventing them from getting the virus? And why did we need to take a vaccine to ‘get our freedoms back’ when we should have never lost them in the first place? No thanks. I’ll pass. Call me an anti-vaxxer if you will, that’s fine. While all the sheep believed the media’s lies and rushed to get their vaccines so they could virtue signal on social media, I chose to follow the real science and let herd immunity get me through a bout with Covid. After all, the with it’s 99%+ infection-survival rate, the virus was never a threat to me (unfortunately) and even it had been, I wasn’t about to take one of Bates’ mRNA vaccines because they only thing they did was turn a bunch of people into Covid factories and spread the virus faster through the planet. Call me crazy but I’m not one for having my body used in a science experiment – at least not by someone else.
Meanwhile, the news reporter was still droning on. “The world still mourns those who had negative immune responses to the early vaccines. It’s important to remember that The World Health Organization has assured us that those who passed away back then didn’t die from the vaccines, but instead from other comorbidities that may have been plaguing them at the time – unfortunately their immune systems were so weak that not even the vaccine could save them. Thankfully for the rest of us, the Bates Vaccine Program saved us from the pandemic – that’s what The Science tells us and if there’s one thing that the pandemic taught us it’s to Follow the Science, right?” But then, turning serious, the newsman warned. “Unfortunately I regret to report that not all is well with the world – the illustrious Dr. Flipflop has warned again that many supporters of our shameful ex-president Donald Trump are continuing to refuse the latest Covid Vaccine – believe it or not, some people have never even had their first dose! It’s shocking, I know. That’s why the good doctor is sounding the alarm – don’t you see, friends, the actions of these insurrectionists are endangering us all and if–“
“Bah!” I cursed, feeling the wrinkles cut deeper into my face. “Who cares about Doctor Flipflop peddling his never-ending vaccine programs against all his made-up variants? Tell me about my Phillies!”
<SMASH!> Glass shattered across the kitchen floor behind me, followed by the sound of someone banging against the door.
“What the hell,” I sputtered to get up. “If those Robinson twins are trespassing again…”
Yet even before I could turn around, suddenly rough hands were upon me; and before I knew what was happening, a black-clad intruder pounded a hard right into the side of my face – knocking the Phillies cap from my head and filling my mouth with blood.
“Umpf!” I moaned, even as another blow sent me crashing into the TV, where I became entangled by those god-forsaken rabbit ears.
Unable to stop my attacker from jumping onto me, my efforts to ward off his blows were futile.
“It’s taken me too long to find you, Baron.” My intruder straddled over me, his face completely covered by a heavily tinted Nano Mask. “You may not know me, but you sure as hell know what I’m here for.” And with that, the goon unsheathed a nasty-looking dagger from his belt, “As fish are caught in the cruel net, and the bird taken in by the snare, so men are trapped by evil times that fall unexpectedly upon them, eh…Bruder?”
My eyes lit up for a moment at his quote from Ecclesiastes, not to mention his reference to The Brotherhood, but most of my attention was captured by that blade. Yet I never got a chance to reply, for just then my attacker stabbed me!
Again and again and again the intruder forced his knife into my torso — seven times in all — leaving me a mangled mass of blood and pulp.
Death was NOT a fun experience, let me tell you — it never is…
A few days later, I was sitting in a rocking chair on my back porch listening to Conway Twitty on my radio.
Somebody’s needin’ somebody the way I do. Somebody’s wantin’ somebody they can hold on to. To be loved by somebody that’s the way it should be. Oh, there’s got to be somebody somewhere waitin’ for me.
It was another scorcher of a day and I conspired against the heat by sipping on an ice cold lager – Beck’s to be exact – crisp, clean, and refreshing.
(Why are you so appalled that I drink so much? Don’t you know the saying “Let them drink and forget their worries?” Hey, I’m not making this stuff up – it’s in The Bible, read it for yourself).
Although nearly two weeks had passed, I still hadn’t replaced the TV that was damaged during the break-in. As a result, I was forced to listen to my Phillies games over the radio. Since the game wasn’t on for another hour, I was whiling away the time listening to some music – naturally I sang along.
“…Hurtin’ inside, going through emotions,” I bellowed out, terribly off-key, “It’s so hard to live. So many feelings, so lonely, when they got so much to give…” Closing my eye as the tune came to a close, I raised my glass, “To be loved by somebody, that’s the way it should be. Oh there’s got to be somebody waitin’ for me…
A <force> pulled gently against me, but I resisted, “No — I will not repent! And I will NOT be silent!” I condemned myself. “I will complain at the bitterness of my soul. Why did You, the God of all creation, credit Job’s words as Faith when he raged against You, yet I remain despised?”
Getting more frustrated, “Damn it all to Hell! Damn all of you; especially you, Mary — it’s all your fault!”
And in a flash, I was lost in memories – unwanted memories from nearly two thousand years ago…
“Damn rain.” I growled, pulling the shutters closed against the cold. In my mind’s eye I was back in the upper room of a rundown apartment building where me and my friends were planning to celebrate the Passover Feast later that evening.
(I was speaking in Aramaic but for our purposes I’ll translate).
Turning to the group, I continued, “It’s the month of Nissan for Yahweh’s sake! Why’s it gotta be so damn cold? I thought we were coming to Jerusalem to be able to enjoy ourselves, don’t you all remember our triumphal entry just a few days ago?
“Of course we do.” Said my brother James.
“Yeah, well since then it’s been pretty rotten.” My lamentation continued.
There was a large table in the middle of the room and around this Peter, my brother James, and a few other men continued preparing the board for our approaching feast. Even still, Peter chimed in, “John, I feel your pain. But calm down, you know as well as I that The Master could tell the winds to cease and the Sun to shine if he so desired.”
“Then why doesn’t he?” I opened the shutters again and looked at the dusty streets below – yearning in anticipation.
“Don’t worry, He’ll be here.” Another man walked over and placed his hand on my shoulder as I continued searching. “He wouldn’t have us do all this and not show up, right?”
“Who knows anymore, Matthew?” I pulled the shutters closed again with a bang. “Ever since Magdala started traveling with us, it seems like SHE is calling the shots now. Does He have to always listen to her advice?”
(Looking back, I guess you could say that I never really liked Mary. Oh well).
“She does seem to always know the right thing to do.” Matthew replied. “Look how the people have responded lately. Why, even the Sadducees are afraid to touch us!”
“But why? How?” I countered. “I know that He dispelled those seven demons from her, but what makes Mary so different from the countless other peons that He did miracles for? She’s just a girl from Magdala for Moses’ sake! Why is she allowed to travel with us, when He always told others to go their own way after He healed them?”
“Because Mary continues to prophecy.” Advised a large man who joined in our conversation. “Only now, rather than speak in the demon tongue, Jesus believes Mary is speaking the words of Yahweh Himself.”
(Funny, I forgot about that. Back then, I was NOT the one with the visions – it was Mary. I never did understand why that all changed?)
“Andrew is right, John. And so far you can’t argue with her results.” Matthew smiled at me. “After all, Mary IS often correct in what she sees. I mean, here we are in Jerusalem, man! Celebrating the Passover in a place that the Pharisees said we would never be able to come back to. And all because Mary told The Master about Bartimaeus’ blindness and that man’s parents were so grateful when The Master cured him that they let us use one of their rental rooms for our Meal this evening…for free – even though this town is packed with pilgrims, and Bartimaeus’ parents could have rented this room for some big coin. Surely that is amazing, neh?”
“Don’t the rest of us count for something?” I retorted. “After all, most of us have been with him for three years or more, yet she’s been around for less than a year. I asked to sit at his right and James at his left — the rest of you practically crucified us for that — and he denied us anyway. Yet Magdala does whatever she pleases and none of you care.”
“Whatever, Matthew, you do that. But I’m serious — what IS going on with her?”
“Do you think there’s a romantic connection?” Andrew asked.
“Unthinkable!” I was quick to reply, not wanting to believe what I most feared.
“Would it be so bad if Jesus and Magdala did unite?” Matthew asked.
“Surely it would diminish our ministry.” Peter surmised.
“I’m not so sure.” Matthew countered. “Think about this, friend — we have come a long way under His direction, but as Judas says, now is the time for action. The people thirst for change. And with Mary’s vision and Jesus’ inspired oration, we could move forward with The Messiah Mission and finally wrest power from the current usurpers.”
“Think of the glory we would all share in,” Peter agreed, “if OUR faction ruled Jerusalem.”
“As good as that sounds,” James spoke up, “I have to agree with my brother. We all know that Jesus is The Son of Yahweh – the Divine Incarnate. There can be no way that he would allow himself to be defiled by a woman.”
“But he is also a man.” Andrew replied. “Surely his flesh has needs.”
(Now let me make one thing clear here — as far as I know, Jesus never did anything untoward with Mary – thankfully. However I still believe that she was his downfall with all her mind games).
“He is a man in appearance only.” Peter rebutted. “He is without sin. He has been tempted by Satan himself – remember what he told us – he was tempted worse than we could ever imagine for forty days in the desert – without faltering. No, friends, I tell you the truth, our Jesus cannot be defiled by anything or anyone in this world.”
“But Mary has been purified by The Master.” Andrew reasoned. “Perhaps this makes her acceptable to him.”
“Who knows? Perhaps you are correct.” Peter replied. “But I believe even if Jesus purified Magdala when he cast out those demons, nonetheless, she is still a human like the rest of us and thus she will always carry Adam’s stain on her. Yet The Master is different – he is pure, he was born without Sin — always has been, always will be.”
(Ha, hear that, Mary? You could never be good enough for Him).
Silence reigned as we all pondered what would become of our club now that Mary of Magdala was gaining more influence within the group and threatening to take our Master away from us – it wasn’t a pretty sight…
Matthew was the first to break the awkward silence, “What you say makes sense, Peter. I can’t see our master, who is so pure of mind and body, accepting a union with a woman who was once possessed by demons and who still carries the mark of Adam’s sin upon her. And yet how can we be sure?”
“Why can’t John ask him?” Andrew offered.
“What? Why me?” I resisted.
“Come on, John.” My brother James coaxed. “You know he loves you best. He tells you everything.”
“Not anymore!” I snapped. “Now she’s his confidante. But this is nothing new because for a while it was Judas too, remember? And speaking of Judas — what’s going on with him? Even though he’s still with us, he’s not been too engaged with our plans lately.”
(Wow! Guess I was correct in that assessment, huh?)
“Yeah, I’m worried about Judas too.” Matthew said softly. “Maybe we should find out what’s bothering him? Perhaps I’ll sit beside him at dinner tonight and ask him.”
“It won’t help, Matthew. Remember, Judas is a Zealot.” Peter reminded them. “He wants Jesus to take power by force, but I get the feeling that’s just not going to happen.”
“Then what are we all doing here in Jerusalem?” Andrew asked. “Waiting for the Pharisees to come and arrest us? I mean, did you see that performance in the Temple today? If Jesus keeps insulting them, they’ll have all of our heads!”
“Let them come and try it!” I grumbled while my brother got riled up as well.
“Be that as it may, brothers,” Peter stopped us in our tracks. “Back to our problem — is there anything else we can do to perhaps minimize Mary’s influence?”
“Lazarus likes Mary.” Matthew tittered. “Perhaps we could get those two to spend more time together?”
(If only Lazarus hadn’t been such a bumbling fool and tried to play Mr. Cool by keeping a secret from Mary, he would have taken her off our hands way back then and maybe things would have been different. Oh, you don’t know that story, yet? Don’t worry, we’ll get to that, too).
“Really?” Andrew asked. “How do you know?”
“Have you seen the way Lazarus is around Magdala?” Matthew replied. “He’s practically a Bar Mitzvah Boy – all wide-eyed and ready to showcase his manhood.”
“Yes, but Mary was there when Lazarus was raised back to life,” Andrew added. “I think it was rather unsettling for her, so I don’t see the two of them getting together.”
“If nothing else, it can’t hurt to include Lazarus more in our affairs.” Peter concluded. “At least, Lazarus might take up some of Mary’s time and leave The Master more with us – so things can get back to normal. After all, if Jesus really is not going to accept Mary’s advances, surely she won’t wait around forever, right?”
With that my Sight snapped back to the present, yet alas my troubles today were only beginning…
The Last Temptation of John 