The Salvation Shark, Chapter 64

Becki

I’m curled on the leather front seat of the black Porsche as Jesse fumbles for the keys. It’s so cold, and my T-shirt is practically cut in half. I’m shivering uncontrollably with my legs pulled up beneath me.

“They have to be here,” Jesse whispers, searching under the seat.

“Anton loves this car,” I spit out between my chattering teeth. I have my right hand on the door handle in case I see him come out of the church. “There is no way he would leave the keys in it.”

“He wouldn’t, would he?” Jesse says proudly. Triumphantly, he pulls them out from under the seat.

“Do you know how to drive standard?” I ask.

“I’ve never driven a car in my life.” Looking at me, he starts the ignition. “Let’s just hope for a miracle.” He guides the car into gear and it moves smoothly, like the car is in control and Jesse the passenger.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

He shrugs. “You live in Boston, right? You want to go home?”

“But what about Anton?”

“We’ll worry about that later,” he says, pulling the car onto the road. “It looks like I’ve got some guidance here.” He looks over at me. “It usually happens when I’m helping someone. I’ll hear directions whispered in my ear, and things just work out right.” He guns the engine, and we speed down the road. He shifts the gears expertly, maneuvering turns and corners like he has been doing this for years. “Why do you call him ‘Anton?’” he asks after a couple minutes.

“That's his name,” I say.

“But he is Lucifer. He is Satan in the flesh.”

“I don’t know,” I say, staring out the window, relaxing a little as the heat blasts over my body. “Maybe... maybe it just makes it easier to deal with if I keep calling him by that name. I was fucked by the Devil” He cringes at the words. “Not like that," I say. "He promised me many things, but it was a lie. I've never even seen a cock in real life. Anton was a perfect gentleman.”

“I’m sorry, I guess I just always assumed... All the pictures in the skimpy clothes, the video where you were nude...”

“I was actually wearing a bikini,” I say. “It was done with convenient cuts and trick photography. I didn’t even know they had shot it like that until I saw the video on the Internet.” I look back at him. “And all the photos were fake. I saw some that were supposedly from that video. 'Cut' scenes, where I was actually nude. This person assembled a picture of me like a puzzle from the video and included... details from pictures of other women."

“Is that why you stayed with the Devil?”

“He promised to take it all away. I don't want to be famous anymore. I just wanted to be with my family. Then I could help them be good.” I press my face against the window. “He told me he couldn’t kill you himself. He chose me so that I could help save the souls you wouldn't.” I’m looking him over carefully, trying to get some kind of reaction. “He said if I asked forgiveness, it would absolve me of what I did to you.”

“You commit suicide.”

His words hit me like my mother’s hand across my cheek. “What?”

“You are forgiven by me for what you do, but that doesn’t erase your grief. On your nineteenth birthday, you cut your wrists with a hunting knife. You don’t just cut them, you stab through them at the kitchen table while your parents are buying you a cake. They are excited because you hadn’t been depressed for so long. A week later, they run the ‘Where Are They Now,’ with an addendum that you just died. You do get your wish though, as your parents only get less than two hundred sympathy cards, and music critics make jokes.”

I’m too shocked to say anything.

“Some people sell their souls to the Devil for fame and fortune. You sold yours to be forgotten.”

“I didn’t...,” I stammer, my jaw working, but no sound coming out.

“Of course you didn’t,” Jesse says. “Do you think he would let you win so easily? You were working with the master of the stacked deck. Satan doesn’t cast his dice unless he knows they will fall in his favor.”

“Why... Why me?” I whisper.

“Lucifer can’t see the future, he sees every possibility and how they assemble. He studies human nature and knows it better than any psychiatrist and sociologist in all of history. If he intervenes a certain way, he can predict how people will react. He could see the possibilities of your future, and knew that most likely, if he left you unchecked, by the time you were twenty-three, you would be so sick of your fame and the materialistic nature of the world. He knew you would disappear from the world for seven years, and when you returned, you would start a religious revival, one of true peace, and true love, one that would show people the true way to my breast, closer to it than the Church ever got, and you would lead more people to me than anyone in history. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to intervene, because your revival came after I showed you this.”

He reaches over and grasps my hand. My head is filled with a blinding white light–blinding to all the pain, all the suffering, all the greed, all the evils of the world. I’m struck with a feeling so pure, so true, that I know I’m looking in the face of the True God. I see the emptiness of all the religions of the world, so long corrupted by Lucifer’s grasp that they could never lead a soul anywhere. I see truth.

I’m speechless.

“There is no corrupting what I just showed you. In that possible future, I made it all so clear that you temporarily turn the War against Lucifer, though he always brings it back his way eventually.”

“Possible future?” I ask. “You just showed it to me. I’ve seen what you had to show me, doesn’t that mean that we beat Lucifer this time, that we won?”

He looks grave for a moment and says, “There are a lot of possibilities, I can only see what is shown to me.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Exactly where you wanted," Jesse says. "We're going to Boston.” He squints through the snow that is accumulating on the windshield like frosting. Maybe he doesn't know how to turn on the windshield wipers, but I don't know either so I say nothing. “But first, I need to get money. Then we are off to Boston.”

I reach for my pocket, but all my money was in my jacket I left at the bar. “But what about Anton?” I ask. The heater is blowing hot air in my eyes. I’m so nervous that my leg is pounding on the floor at about one hundred miles per hour. "Can't you make money like he does?"

“Do you think I'd be a bartender at Myer Road if I could make my own money?" Jesse asks. He chuckles until he sees I'm not laughing. Finally, he figures out which lever operates the lights, and how to clear the windshield. Unless he figures out how to turn on the heat, it won't be long before it frosts on the inside. "This isn't like normal cars. If it had been something from the Eighties, I could have figured it out. Those cars are pretty simple."

"But you know how to shift?" I ask.

Jesse throws his hands in the air. "Not in control here," he says. A moment passes before Jesse realizes his hands aren't on the wheel, and he jumps, wrapping his arms around the column. The car doesn't swerve. "I know someone out here. She will believe me."

He pulls into a driveway out in the middle of nowhere. It’s a tiny raised ranch set back on a half acre of land. There are thick trees with bare, spindly arms reaching across the yard. “This is it,” he says, as we go up the long driveway. A figure appears in the picture window as we approach. “And she’s home too.”

Jesse beats on the glass door with his fist. It’s cold. I follow hesitantly, pulling at the hem of the T-shirt to keep myself decent. The door opens, revealing a pretty, brown haired girl that doesn't look nearly as shocked as I thought she would be.

“Jess,” she says rather calmly. “First you tell me you’re Jesus, and now you drive up to my house in a Porsche with a half-naked girl?” I pull down the frayed ends of T-shirt and look at the bushes.

“This is Becki Murphy. The singer," Jesse says. "Eva, Becki Murphy. Becki, Eva.” Jesse grabs my hand and pushes past the girl.

"I thought you were dead," Eva says.

“It’s only going to get more weird.” We go into the basement to a large den with a neatly made futon in the back corner.

"Jesse, no," the girl says, chasing after. "I don't know what's going on, but I don't want any part of it."

"Eva, come on," Jesse says. "You have to believe me, this is important." He gestures to me. "Tell her," he says. "You're Becki Murphy!" There is a worn brown couch in the middle of the room, facing a muted television set. Jesse turns it off and pushes me down on the couch. He points at the small window above the television and says, “Is there any way to cover that?” Before the girl can answer, Jesse turns the lamp to the lowest setting.

“You can’t fool him that easily,” I say, matter-of-factly.

Jesse stops and takes a deep breath. “I know,” he says at last. “I’m just panicking."

"Jesse, what is going on?" Eva asks, still in the doorway, unable to comprehend the scene. "What are you doing here? I'm not letting you say another word until you tell me what is happening!"

"I rescued Becki from some guy that came to kill me."

"Because you are Jesus?"

"Yes."

"Jess, I think whatever problems you are having are bigger than anything I can help you with anything in any way." She hands me a T-shirt and a sweater. I put on both of them over my ripped shirt.

“Can Becki have some clothes please.”

Eva goes to a dresser next to the bed. "Jesse, some people told me you got sick some times," she says, stepping between me and Jesse. "If that is true, maybe we should talk to a doctor or something, but regardless, if this is the real Becki Murphy, I think everyone will be safer if she is not in my house. She's dead." She turns to me, and as if she's letting me in on a secret says, "You're dead. It said so on the news."

"If you can give me two hundred bucks, I can get to Albany and hit up my Dad..."

"Jesse, I'm not giving you any money," Eva says. I can tell she doesn't believe I am me. Has Anton already granted my wish? She seems especially worried the way Jesse is pacing the room and ranting.

"I told you that Satan was coming to kill me? Well, he showed up tonight at the bar with her.” He looks to me. “He kidnapped Becki and brainwashed her into becoming his assassin. For some reason, he can’t kill me himself.”

“Why not?” Eva asks. She's grinning a little bit, like she thinks he's about to say the punchline. “Why Becki Murphy?”

“It’s a long story," Jesse says. "I’ll have time to explain later.” He chews his lip for a moment. “I need you to do something for me. I'm giving you a holy quest.”

“A quest?” she asks skeptically.

“Any money you can give me will be much appreciated. I need to get this girl to Boston, and I don't know anyone else that would have enough.”

“Jesse, come on. Is it drugs? Do you owe someone?”

“Right now, Lucifer is on his way here. I need to get this girl to Boston!”

“Whatever happened to letting him take you?”

He sighs through his nose. “I had my mind changed on that. I think it might be too late for me to undo everything, but I want to accomplish this one good deed before he can get me.” Jesse pauses again. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been reborn. It won’t be the last. One of these days, I’ll get it right.”

“You didn't lock the door,” Anton says, stepping into the room, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. "It wouldn't matter, but it is still good practice.” He stares at Jesse. “You have something that belongs to me.” I put the couch between myself and Lazarus. “Hunting you down and killing you has become a full time job, kid. I’ve been at it for fifteen years now, I want a vacation.” He sits down in the wicker chair. “Would you believe they had me thinking you were in China? I was there for almost five years hunting down leads.” He raises his eyebrows. “I was a little embarrassed, it only made sense that you’d be an American.”

“Let us go, Lucifer,” Jesse commands.

Anton laughs. “I let you go again at the church, but I don’t plan on letting you go a third time.” He entwines his fingers behind his head.

“Will you shut up?!” Jesse shouts. “Talk! Talk! Talk! Is that all you ever do, Lucifer? Just do it already. You’re boring me to death with all this talk. Why don’t you just put your money where your mouth is and fucking kill me?”

Anton shrugs. “All right.” He stands up and pulls the gun out of his jacket.

Eva screams, “No!” and jumps at him.

Anton catches her by the hair. “Saint Eva,” he says in a low, gravelly voice. He tosses her aside. “Becki?" He holds out the gun. "Will you do me the favor of shooting Jesse?” he asks. “Then I can get you home to your parents, who happen to think you are dead.”

“No,” I say obstinately.

"No?" Lazarus asks.

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