It only took one long look to satisfy Semple that everything Bernadette had said was true. She turned her back on the angry nuns and returned to where Aimee was standing. “She’s right. It’s just like the other one.”
The body of Mary-Theresa wasn’t the first of Jesus’ victims to be discovered. Just four hours before, the body of one of the dancing girls from the headland had been found in the rosebushes below the terrace, bearing identical marks of violent abuse. It was clearly the worst crisis in the history of Aimee’s Heaven, and try as she might, Semple couldn’t shake a certain measure of guilt. She was the one who had set the whole nightmare train of events in motion. Back in Gojiro’s brain tumor, it seemed like a fine prank to inflict a lunatic on her sister, but now that the prank had turned into a serial killer rampage, she knew she didn’t have a moral leg to stand on. She supposed she could claim that at the time she’d had no idea of the extent of his lunacy, but she knew that plea would fail to cut much ice with either Aimee or the nuns.
Bernadette, who was rapidly emerging as the undisputed leader and primary spokeswoman of Heaven’s nuns, may have had squads searching all over the environment for the homicidal messiah, and even bluebirds recruited to act as scouts and spotters, but Semple had grave doubts about whether they were going to find him. Had she been him, she would have had her nasty fun and then been gone like a cool breeze. On the other hand, she was aware that she was making the cardinal error of equating his thought processes with her own. It was something she should long since have learned never to do. Psychos didn’t think like her or anyone else. They heard the voice of the Almighty, Sam the Dog, or the TV set in their head, and acted accordingly. Given that, it was extremely possible Jesus was still around. Such was this last straw she clutched at, but without much expectation that it would keep her afloat. Thus, when the shout went up, the tally-ho that the quarry had been sighted, Semple was among the most surprised of all.
Jesus was initially spotted by a bluebird. He was skulking and muddy, on the far side of the headland where no one ever went, because, as a piece of coherent reality, it wasn’t properly finished. Following the bluebird’s directions, the nuns gathered, and armed with rakes, hoes, shovels, and other gardening implements pressed into service as weapons, they went to intercept him in a crew only slightly more disciplined than a lynch mob. Semple sent her rubber guards with them, with instructions that they should restrain or deflect the nuns should they decide to discorporate Jesus on the spot. Semple wasn’t altogether sure, though, that the rubber guards would actually be able to pull it off. They hadn’t fared too well in the transfer from her domain to Heaven, and were looking saggy and a little strained around the seams.
Needless to say, neither Semple, Aimee, nor Mr. Thomas went with the nuns. If the search did indeed end with Jesus swinging from a stately oak, the necktie party could all too easily be expanded to include the three of them. The two sisters and the goat waited on the terrace; for the next twenty-five minutes, they listened to the shouts and the coordinating whistles as the hunters closed in.
Jesus was bruised and bloody when he was finally dragged to Aimee. He hadn’t actually been lynched, but beyond that the sisters had shown precious little mercy. His white robe was torn and filthy, his sandals were gone, and he had wisely lost the halo. For one so beat up, he showed amazingly little remorse or repentance. They brought him to the bottom of the steps that led up to the terrace, so Aimee was at least able to pass judgment while looking down at the man. For the moment, the nuns were still respecting her authority. Jesus, however, showed nothing but contempt for the ad hoc proceedings. He seemed unable to grasp that his life was at stake. His first move of defiance was to shake himself free of the nuns who were holding his arms, and angrily protest to Aimee. “Do you have no control over these maniac women?”
Semple had to admit that her sister rose to the occasion with an inspired magnificence. Despite all the tension that had gone before, she drew herself up to her full height and regarded Jesus with a demeanor of judicial frost. “From where I’m standing, I can only see one maniac.”
Jesus’ two hands indicated his injuries and disheveled clothes. “You can see what these mad bitches have done to me.”
“They are understandably angry.”
“And what right do they have to be angry?”
“Do you deny that you attacked and mutilated at least two of their number?”
“Why should I deny it? I was invited here to help you expand your environment and I presumed that I had all of its facilities at my disposal.”
Bernadette glared at him, fists and teeth clenched. “Including women to murder and mutilate according to your sick whim?”
Jesus ignored her and continued to address his remarks to Aimee. “These women I’m supposed to have attacked. What were they? Surely nothing more than property. Why should a few of them disappearing present any kind of problem? I’m entitled to my fun, aren’t I?”
This produced a noisy and dangerous outburst from the women. Unlike Semple, they hadn’t heard this glib argument before. They hadn’t known Anubis. Jesus was nunhandled and jostled, and Semple’s rubber guards moved quickly to protect him. Aimee held up her hand for silence. When the tumult finally subsided, Jesus looked around angrily. “I’m not saying another word until I get a lawyer.”
Aimee looked at him as though he were insane. “A lawyer?”
“That’s right, a lawyer.”
“You think there are lawyers in Heaven?”
He pointed to Semple. “What about her?”
Semple looked outraged. “No McPherson has ever been a lawyer. Preachers and horse thieves, maybe, but never a lawyer.”
A superior smile spread across Jesus’ face. “This trial can hardly continue if I can’t have adequate representation.”
Bernadette shouted angrily, “You can speak for yourself, can’t you?”
Now it was Aimee’s turn to look superior. “And who said this was a trial?”
Jesus’ smile faded. “So what is it, then?”
“I merely wanted to hear what you had to say before I passed sentence.”
“You can’t sentence me. I’m Jesus Christ and this is supposed to be Heaven. You’ve got a major jurisdictional problem on your hands. I’m the Son of God, damn it.” He turned and looked at the nuns. “I mean, all of you, you’re all supposed to be brides of Christ, aren’t you? So, if that’s the case, you all belong to me and you shouldn’t be creating this nonsense.”
Bernadette and the other nuns could hardly credit what they were hearing. “We don’t belong to you, you son of a bitch.” They gestured to Aimee. “We don’t even belong to her.”
Jesus abruptly changed tack. He became the affable, placating used-car salesman. “Okay, okay. I tell you what. Let’s look at this another way. I admit that I messed up the women. It was a mistake. I confess. I shouldn’t have done it. I thought they were part of the facilities and I thought I was mutilating them in good faith, but that was an error. If anyone’s got a problem with me mutilating women, I’m sorry. Different strokes and all the rest of it. It’s probably a result of all the TV I’ve watched. But why don’t we just leave it at that? I’ll get the fuck out of here and I’ll promise to stop telling people that I’m Jesus Christ and we’ll forget the whole thing. I mean, think about it. What’s the point of sending me back to the pods? I’ll be just the same when I get out. Maybe even worse.”
When Jesus finished, an incredulous silence settled. Then a lone nun spoke in a quiet voice. “Crucify him.”
The refrain was taken up and grew louder. “Crucify him!”
“Crucify him!”
“Crucify him!”
Bernadette held up a hand and the shouting subsided. “We should do worse than crucify him. We should peel his skin off in strips.”
The idea gained an immediate constituency. “And then cut up his flesh in even smaller pieces.”