Chapter 43

4:51 a.m. Easter Sunday, April 4, Passion Ministry

Later, their misting breath lead them to the secluded spot in the forest. At the base of a grassy incline, a fire pit yawned, charred logs jutting along its edges like blackened teeth. The sheltered site, a regular witness to song and toasted wieners, was peaceful. A patchwork of kindling and split logs sat ready for the next campfire.

Under John’s watch, Oscar had assembled all the necessary materials. While he hammered, sawed and dug, Oscar prayed. His prayers were finally answered when John left him to change.

Throwing down the hammer, Oscar sprinted to the main building. Let himself into Andrew’s quarters. Years ago, Andrew had taught him some emergency medical techniques. Finally, Oscar would put them to use. He quickly shoved the necessary items into his pocket. Hurried back outside. Whipping out his cell, he stuck the phone to his ear and ran.

“Oscar?” Maggie answered. “What’s going on? Is John with—”

“Listen!” Oscar snapped. “You still at the hospital?”

“No. I’m just outside the main gate. What’s wrong?”

Oscar spied John approaching from above. His jaw dropped. John was wrapped in Jimmy’s duvet.

Oscar tore across the damp grass. “Sorry, Maggie, but John’s… lost it. He’s… oh, please, just come straight to the fire pit. Now!”

“Let me talk—”

“He’s beyond talk, Maggie.” Oscar swore. If he didn’t hurry, John would discover that he had left and would no longer trust him. What would the grieving man do then? “For God’s sake, woman, he’s asked me to… to…” He gulped. “…crucify him in a crazy attempt to complete Jimmy’s destiny. Just hurry!”

He cut Maggie off. Fell on his knees, pretending to work.

A minute later John stood, and calmly watched as Oscar fumbled with the wooden cross.

“Please John,” he begged. “You don’t need—”

John stared through him. He folded the bedspread. Placed it at his feet.

Oscar took his time lighting the giant candlesticks he had earlier brought from John’s living room. Their twin flames danced. Then, Oscar slowly laid out a circle of burning votive candles.
John raised his arms, looked up. “I do this in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. You are here, Oscar, to bear witness. My precious son’s destiny will be fulfilled.”

John inhaled deeply. Shut his eyes. Calmly awaited his dreadful destiny.

Oscar acted immediately. Whipped out the hypodermic needle he had previously prepared. Jammed it into John’s upper arm, then shoved down the plunger.

John’s eyes flashed. He cried out, wrenching against the pain.

Oscar slipped. Lost his hold. As he battled to hang onto John, the half-empty needle dropped to the grass.

John bucked, but Oscar corralled his flailing arms. It felt like an eternity but finally, John’s body went limp. Oscar laid him down gently. He found the needle in pieces beneath his left boot. Tucked the bits under a large stone. Then lay the duvet over John’s body.

Oscar dropped again to his knees. Pleaded for forgiveness.

A slight movement startled him. He stood quickly, wiping away tears. Called out softly, “Maggie?”

His voice seemed unnaturally loud. Something rustled over his shoulder. A ripple of fear nudged his brain. “Who’s there?”

He peered into the thick forest. Something moved. “Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you want?”

“I’m the Watcher,” a raspy voice hissed in his ear.

Oscar flinched, stunned by the disheveled figure suddenly standing at his shoulder. Behind a bloodied face, a pair of blue eyes glittered.

Oscar instinctively twisted to avoid their terrifying gaze.

With the astounding speed of a serpent, the Watcher struck. The lanky man crumpled without a sound.

“Well, talk about two birds with one stone,” said the Watcher out loud. “This’s gonna be easy. Easy and so sweet.”

“Oscar? Oscar, is that you?” a woman’s voice pierced the stillness. Her silhouette appeared above. “What’re you doing out here? Is John okay?”

The Watcher towered over her before she could take another breath.

Maggie screamed, then gasped in recognition. “Harry? Where’s Oscar? I… I don’t understand. What’s going on?” She paused, frowning. “You’re… bleeding.”

“Only flesh wounds,” he replied. “Nothing like your little traitor Rachel. Good thing she’s dead or your precious John woulda killed her with his bare hands.”

He touched her cheek. Maggie cringed. “She’s a little beauty, that one. Like her Mom.” He stooped. Spoke into her ear. “Guess you didn’t expect her to betray you, huh? Too bad about the kid.”

Maggie tried to dart around him. He stopped her easily, but she glimpsed what lay behind. “John? Oh my God, John!” She clawed for freedom. “Johhnnn!”