The auditorium was jammed with camera crews, historians, scientists skilled in carbon dating, as well as scholars from all over the world knowledgeable about ancient documents and languages, anthropologists and even a few Hollywood celebrities.
"Well, little lady," Zak said, "how does it feel to be a grand champion writer?"
He and I were seated in a green room adjacent to the auditorium at the Clarion Institute.
"Yeah right," I said, unfastening the bottom button on my blazer so it would hang better. I had dressed to look professional and credible. My hair was secured away from my face and in a twist on the top of my head. Still I was always aware that because of my appearance, people sometimes dismissed what I said. I considered it rude.
Zak said, "Critics have given your book about your brother rave reviews."
"Because you know them," I said.
"No. Well, I do know them, but I didn't pay them to write good stuff. I don't do that with my books. I want honest opinions. If a book sucks or is boring I like to know before it's released, so I can fix it or chuck it. It saves a lot of money and trouble. Besides, remember how the committee at the writers' conference reacted? It's not just me, Raven."
"What happened to Felipe and Jessie?" I said.
"Last I knew they were in the can," Zak said.
An aide peeked her head in the doorway. Jessie and Felipe were behind her.
"Follow me," she said.
We were led around the back of the set, with it's exposed two-by-fours and peanut brittle plywood, and up a set of steps to the stage. Before us in rows of terraced seats the audience was packed. Five empty chairs were positioned in a semicircle on stage. The aide seated us. The host, a woman revered by millions, appeared and took a seat. Microphones were fastened to our clothing. The countdown to air time began.
In the front row was my brother, Avery. Avery.
"I'm Linda Windsor, your host for this unique presentation. Our guests tonight have made an amazing claim, one I'm eager to share with you. I'd like to introduce Raven Duval, Zak McClintock, Jessie Asa and Felipe Lisandro. Raven is the author of the book, Karmic Justice.
"Just before Christmas eight and a half years ago, her brother, Demetrius Duval, entered the home of Mariah and Cliff Jones, plunged a sword into their hearts, lay down between them and killed himself. Their bodies were discovered by the Jones children when they came home for Christmas. In Demetrius' diary the authorities found confessions to the murders of eight people in all. I'd like you to listen to part of his diary."
A voice came over the speakers reading what my brother had written.
I was sitting in a monastery near Napa, California overlooking the valley and the rows of grape vines on the hillside, when it came to me. I'd known for a long time that I was born for some special purpose, to complete something I'd vowed to do long ago. It didn't occur to me what it was until I was seated with the brothers after the day's work was done. They were chanting. Their voices were carried by the stillness of early evening. It was a peaceful day. I let my thoughts go into the peace.
In my mind I began seeing faces of people dressed in robes, eight in all. I saw brutal killings. With each death I became aware who the victims were and that I had known them. I also became aware that I was one of the transgressors--one who had participated in hundreds of crimes dictated by the government.
After the first set of visions was complete, the next began. The face of the perpetrator of each crime came to me. With it was also a modern-looking face. The names appeared, past and present, written in typed script in my mind. I returned to my room and got out a pad. I sketched the faces, past and present, and wrote the names beneath the pictures. I did that for all eight. When it came to my own transgressions I was shown, time after time, how I was present at executions. I was the centurion, the supervisor. And although I delivered the sentences with as much compassion as I could, it was pointed out to me that just because the government told me to do this, didn't make it right. That's why I had to pay.
Tonight, I complete the assignment. I don't want to hurt my family, although I know this surely will.
Tears were in my eyes as I faced a death-quiet audience. I glanced down at Avery. The look on his face was unreadable.
"Raven," Linda said, "what can you tell us about your brother--the man who wrote these words. What was he like growing up?"
"Funny," I said, thankful my voice did not sound teary. "We were close. He was six years older than me. He kind of took care of me. He kept the other kids in the neighborhood from picking on me."
"He was a bully?" Linda asked.
"No. Everyone liked him. He had a lot of charm, charisma actually. It was kind of innocent. He was so real. He didn't have barriers to protect himself like the rest of us do. He was straightforward. He played a lot of jokes on me."
"Mean jokes?"
"No, cute things, like putting popcorn in my shoes. He knew how I loved popcorn. Once, I must have been six, I woke up and found a stringer of it hanging from the ceiling above my bed--you know like the kind people used to string for Christmas trees."
"So he was never mean to you?"
"I never saw him do one mean thing to anyone."
"How about your parents? How did they take all this--the murders, I mean?"
"They were heartsick. They moved to another state to get away from all the hate."
"I understand the events in the book tie in with another book you've written, entitled, The Sword of Ruth."
"Yes."
"It's a reincarnation story set at the time of Jesus," Linda said.
"Yes."
"Reincarnation and the Bible? How did that happen? If my memory serves me correctly, the Bible says it's given unto man once to die and then comes the judgment."
"I know. But the Bible isn't the whole story. History, that which is allowed to survive, is written or sanctioned by those in power."
"And you think the Bible is an altered history, not the word of God."
"Yes."
"In The Sword of Ruth you claim you were Ruth, Jesus' sister and that your mother and father at the time, your biological parents, were Mary and Joseph."
The audience broke into whispers.
"That's correct."
"You realize that would mean Mary did not remain a virgin."
"I don't know why everyone gets so hung up on that," I said. "Even if Jesus was a product of immaculate conception, the hymen would have been broken when he was born, technically ending her virginity."
"I believe it's a matter of purity," Linda said.
"So, are you saying you think that if a person has sex they are no longer pure? If that's the case, then God set us up to fail. God set us up to want sex, but if we have it, we can't be pure. Because if we stay pure no one will be having babies. So the race will die out. It doesn't make sense. That would make God a duffus, hung up on maintaining power."
"A lot of folks disagree with you."
"I'm sure they do."
"You're sure you were Ruth, Jesus' sister."
"It would seem so."
"You're not sure?"
"I don't believe we can be sure of anything. We see things through culturally defined and personally ground lenses. That's why we disagree on so many things."
"Do you think there is anyway to know the truth?" Linda said.
"Not on this level."
'What do you mean by this level?"
"In this dimension on a physical earth," Raven said."
"I understand you are part Native American. Is that why you don't believe?"
"I don't understand what you mean."
"The predominant religion in this country is Christianity. You are blowing holes it's basic tenets. Many see it as truth. I'm asking if your Native American heritage has something to do with you not believing in Jesus."
"I didn't say I didn't believe in Jesus. He was my brother, one really special guy, but he didn't come t
o save us. No one can do for another what they need to do for themselves. If they could, it would sentence us to eternal immaturity and perpetual boredom. But we can help each other. That's what he was about."
"Some would call you a heretic," Linda said.
"That's their choice. This country was set up as a republic, a democracy even, but not a theocracy. One nation under God, not one Christian nation. It's all about freedom of choice to believe as we each see fit, even if that doesn't include a god."
"I understand scrolls and plates were found, which you claim are historical records and that they corroborate what is in your book. Can you tell us about them?"
"I haven't read them. Zak is the one who found them," I said. "He can better answer your questions."
Turning to Zak, Linda said, "Have these scrolls and plates been authenticated?"
"Yes," Zak said, "by some of the finest experts in the world. Those scientists are in the audience."
"What's the consensus?" Linda said. "Are there any disagreements?"
"The carbon dating confirms that the documents were written at the approximate time of Jesus," Zak said. "Each of the experts wrote a report of their findings. Copies of their reports will be made available at the end of this interview."
"Do these scrolls and plates blow holes in Christianity, as we know it?"
"Yes."
"I understand you believe you were the father of John the Baptist," Linda said.
"That is correct."
"Could you tell us who our other guests are?"
"Beside me on the left is Felipe Lisandro," Zak said. "He was John the Baptist, the one called the Prophet."
The auditorium broke into a buzz.
"And on the other side of Raven?" Linda asked.
"He is Jessie Asa."
"And he was...?"
"Jesus."
The audience erupted into a roar.
"Do you realize how bizarre this might sound to some?" Linda asked.
"Of course, even though Christians have been awaiting his return. They expect it to happen with a dramatic flourish. That's why I waited until now to make the announcement," Zak said. "The truth had to come out."
"The truth?"
"Yes," Zak said. "It will not be stopped."
Avery stood, pulled out a gun, took aim and before anyone could stop him, squeezed the trigger.
The End