Marty grunted.
“Oh, this is madness,” Vin said. “I’m going to take a fucking shower. Jize, you’re welcome to come along, but you know we don’t need you.”
“I know.”
“Janice, on the other hand—” Vin started to say.
“—Can make her own decision.” Janice finished.
“Well, you know how I feel, not that that matters,” Vin said. “I’m taking a shower.”
“I need to meditate,” Jocelyn said.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Day Nine
A meditation was long overdue, but Jocelyn hadn’t had a good opportunity until now. She had fulfilled Saint Michael’s wishes to get medicated, and now she wished further guidance, though she was pretty set on trying to find Colorado Springs and maybe being used to find a cure. She knew it was a slim hope, but what other hope did they have?
Jocelyn meditated in an empty bedroom, intending to converse with the entity that would be for her highest good. She traveled to her Inner Temple, and an elderly man in a full-length red robe was waiting for her. He introduced himself as the Archangel Metatron. “Shall we walk in your beautiful garden?” Jocelyn knew Metatron as the Voice of God, and his voice boomed. She had never conversed with him though.
Her Inner Temple contained a lush garden, green with colorful roses and orchids. A brook, originating from a light waterfall from the top of the atrium, ran through the middle. They strolled down a winding red-brick path. She increased the size of the garden for the walk. Skunk was on the path, as if he had been waiting for them to arrive. He jumped up and landed on Jocelyn’s shoulder. Skunk always was a comfort for her, and she appreciated the gesture.
“I remind you of the sins you committed,” Metatron said. “Thou shalt not kill.”
Jocelyn stopped short. “I killed because of my mental illness, or by self-defense. That does not make it a sin . . . doesn’t it?”
“Only sinners make excuses. Moses’s commandment is clear. ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ It does not say, ‘Thou shalt not kill unless because of mental defect or in self-defense.’”
“That’s hardly fair.”
“The rules are the rules,” he said. “Remember, you are all sinners.”
“But I hope to be studied. We may save the entire human race! We can’t do that if we let ourselves be killed or turned into draugar.”
Metatron stopped walking, chose a rose, and placed his nose just above the petals. He breathed deeply, pure ecstasy, sheer delight, showing on his face. It was as if he had smelled nothing for a long time. “A noble effort, to be sure. My Lord is very forgiving, and He will forgive you your sins, but only if you follow through and save the world. But I warn you, you must not waver when the time comes to sacrifice yourself. And you must try to keep your mental faculties. That is the only way you will enter the Kingdom of Heaven. This, the Lord has instructed me to say to you.”
“So even though I’ve developed Tardive dyskinesia—”
“—It is a small price to pay for saving the world. You must be prepared to sacrifice your life and the lives of others. You must use as much help as you can, even if that means putting people in danger, even if it means lying to them about it.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “‘Thou shalt not bear false witness?’ You are asking me to sin?”
“Oh, heavens no, child. You have Free Will. You can always choose not to do this and wind up in purgatory, or Hell, depending on His mood at your time of death. But if you want to enter the Kingdom of Heaven . . . Let me put it another way. You already committed enough sin to put you in Hell for all eternity. The only way to absolve your sins is to sacrifice yourself for humanity. This is His gift to you. Therefore, if you commit any sins to further that goal, you will also be forgiven those sins.”
“So, I’m required to commit sins, then?”
“Only if you want to enter the Kingdom of Heaven,” he answered.
“That makes no sense.”
“My Lord has given you a gift. It is a gift to all of humanity. Remember, his son had to die, had to be put to death, to be sinned against, to absolve humanity of sin, including the very sin that crucified him. Without that ultimate sin, mankind would have been doomed . . . These are the rules, Jocelyn. He will absolve you of all your sins if you do not waver in your quest. Now you must choose your own path.”
Jocelyn looked down at the red bricks underneath her feet. She looked around: at the garden; at the atrium of arched, open hallways with its plethora of doors; at the altar at the other end; at the mirrored wall that reflected the temple, that reflected herself. In the reflection, she noticed that the red of her robe matched the shade of Metatron’s, except hers was green-lined while his was white-lined. “What if I confess to a Priest? Can’t he forgive my sins then?”
“Yes, but in your case, the Lord won’t allow that to happen, so don’t try to or there will be dire consequences.”
“What do you mean?”
“The priest would die before you got the words out; I imagine. He will not allow any loopholes for you.”
Her temple no longer felt like a refuge, but instead a prison, with Metatron as the warden. This was not how it should be. Why is Metatron, or The Lord, being so heavy-handed?
“Either go to Hell or die trying to save mankind,” she said. “Not much of a choice. Still, I’ve already committed to serving myself up for experimentation to find a cure. I will go to the ends of the Earth if I have to, to do it. You don’t need to coerce me.”
“You misunderstand. You possess Free Will. But you cannot
