“Sorry for the trouble, boys,” Sally said with a smile.
She tossed the scarf at the guards, obscuring their view. By the time the skinny guard plucked the scarf out of the air, Sally had already jumped.
“Director McField!” Sean shouted, as he reached out for her.
All three men ran to the edge of the cliff and looked over. Sally was plummeting toward the ground. A light began to pulsate. With each flash it grew brighter and brighter, enveloping Sally’s body in a blaze of white. The three men jumped back as a sound like an explosion rose from below. They waited only a second before looking back over the cliff. And what they saw, they couldn’t believe. Sally was gone. No broken body. No stain of blood. She had vanished. Only a glowing cloud of blue particles remained, carried by the wind.
“Holy… She’s…she’s gone!”
“This must have something to do with that secret stuff they’ve been working on.”
“Yeah, but where did she go?”
“Not where did she go,” Jake said. “But when did she go?”
As Jake finished his sentence, a tingling zap of energy coursed up through the sinews of his back and into his skull. He was suddenly filled with the knowledge of what he had to do next…and it was wonderful.
The guards turned around and saw Jake standing in the bulkhead. He had a gun raised. “Sorry guys, but you’ve seen too much and we need to tidy up a bit.”
Before any of them could react, Jake fired three shots.
SIXTEEN
Rise
30A.D.
Tom was miffed. Jesus knew Lazarus was sick, maybe even dying. While Tom in no way believed Jesus could heal Lazarus, he knew that they were friends and if Lazarus died, Jesus should be there. They all should be there. But they weren’t. Three days had passed before they set out that morning, headed for Bethany. Tom thought that Jesus might have waited the three days with the hopes that Lazarus would be feeling better by the time they arrived, thus negating the need for an actual miraculous healing.
The hike toward Bethany had been quiet and tense. Tom was glad it was almost over. As the hillside home of Lazarus came into view, Tom’s heart sank. A crowd of people, maybe a hundred, was gathered around the home. And there was a noise…a wailing. Is everyone crying?
Jesus stopped in his tracks and looked at the crowd. The disciples followed suit. Tom knew what this meant. He knew Lazarus was dead. And they hadn’t been here.
As the fourteen moved forward again and approached the home, Martha burst from the crowd and stormed toward Jesus, consumed by rage. “Where were you?”
Martha stopped in front of Jesus and punched his chest. “ Where were you?”
She punched Jesus’s chest and arms over and over, lessening the blow each time. “If you had been here earlier, Lazarus would not have died!”
Tom shook his head at hearing Martha say the words, confirming Lazarus’s passing. This was madness.
After putting his arms around Martha, Jesus pulled her close. She sobbed into Jesus’s chest as he ran his fingers through Martha’s hair. He held her tight until her muscles relaxed. Jesus loosened his grip on Martha and she wiped her eyes dry.
“But…I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask,” Martha said with the voice of a desperate beggar.
Jesus wiped a stray tear from Martha’s cheek and said, “Your brother will rise again.”
“Yes, yes, I know, in the resurrection. On the last day,” Martha said, defeated.
“Martha…I am the resurrection. I am the life. Whoever believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives, and believes in me will never die… Do you believe this, Martha?”
Martha’s eyes filled with liquid as she stared Jesus in the eyes. “Yes,” she said with a firm voice, “I believe you are the Christ, the very Son of God who has come into this world.”
Martha heard her own words and looked suddenly worried. “Sorry I hit you.”
Jesus smiled at Martha and asked, “Now, where is your sister? Where is Mary?”
“Inside. I’ll get her.” Martha headed for the house.
Appearing weakened by the strong emotions of Martha, Jesus sat at the base of a fig tree, while the disciples dispersed among the mass of mourners. Tom and David stood twenty feet from Jesus, watching the scene as though through a time portal. Tom thought David looked nervous. Did he know what was going to happen? Was he expecting trouble?
Tom attempted to hypothesize about what David might be thinking, but found his own thoughts consumed by concern for Mary. He hadn’t seen her yet, and scanned the faces of the people who had gathered at the home.
Like a lighthouse beckoning to a ship in the night, Mary emerged from within the sea of people and headed toward Jesus. Tom felt an incredible urge to run to her, to reach out and comfort her. But she was not coming to him. Why wasn’t she coming to him? Perhaps her feelings for him were temporary? Had he misread her interest? Tom swallowed hard at the thought and continued watching, his feet stuck to the ground like two branches frozen in ice.
He watched as Mary stood above Jesus at the fig tree. Jesus looked up from the ground and met Mary’s eyes. It was as if an entire conversation was held using only their eyes. They stared at each other in painful silence, crying. A teardrop fell from Mary’s face and struck her shaking hand as it fell to the earth. Mary took a deep breath.
“Where were you? You could have saved him,” Mary said with a sniffle.
Jesus reached a hand out to Mary and she fell into his arms. Jesus wept.
Tom felt a nagging on his tear ducts and gave in, allowing the tears to flow freely down his face. He felt David’s gaze and knew he must be realizing how much Mary really meant to him. Tom had never once, not even when he talked about Megan, cried in front of David.
Jesus held Mary by the shoulders and pushed her back so he could see her face. “Where have you laid him?” he asked.
Mary wiped the tears from her eyes. “It’s not far. We’ll show you.”
Mary and Jesus stood to their feet. “Let me gather the disciples,” Jesus said. “Then we will go see about your brother.”
Jesus walked into the crowd, leaving Mary alone. As she stood by herself, her face became twisted with agony. She jumped when Tom placed his hand on her shoulder. “Mary,” Tom said with a compassionate voice. “I’m here.”
Mary spun around and wrapped her arms around Tom as tight as she could. Tom squeezed her and pressed his face against hers, mixing their tears. Tom felt as though his heart were being stung by an angry swarm of bees. Lazarus was dead, but Mary was alive and Tom could feel her love for him as they shared the pain of loss that Tom knew all too well.
Watching from the sidelines had become a hobby for David. He wasn’t always invited or allowed to take part in everything Jesus and the disciples did, but he was just as happy to watch. And he had never been happier to do so than now. Here they were, two thousand years in the past, mourning the death of a friend whose sister was falling in love with Tom. David smiled. Tom didn’t believe in Jesus, but he sure had a habit of falling in love with women who did.
Tom looked up as Jesus emerged from the crowd with Martha and the eleven other disciples. “We’re ready,”
