The Second Messiah

“Can you do something for me, Lela?”

Her eyes lifted to meet his face. “Of course. Anything.”

“Borrow your father’s car and drive me away from here.”

“To where?”

Jack felt overcome. “Anywhere. There’s something personal I need to do but I’m just not ready to do it yet.”

Five minutes later, they were driving on the dusty roads toward Qumran, Lela steering her father’s blue Escort.

“Did you think about what you’re going to do in the near future, Jack?”

“I have to put my folks’ estate in order. Estate—that’s a joke. It’s just a small house at the end of a dirt road in upstate New York. My folks didn’t put much store by possessions. Their career never paid much but it meant everything to them.”

“The house is where you grew up?”

“More often than not I traveled with my folks. I got most of my education on the hoof. I guess I’d feel more at home in Qumran than in upstate New York.”

“What will you do?”

He had a lost look on his face as he said quietly, “Right now, I don’t know, Lela. Maybe go back to the States and finish my education.”

She reached across, held his hand. “Am I allowed to say that I’m worried about you?”

“I’m worried about me too.”

“Will you write to me? Please?”

“Sure.”

“You don’t sound very convincing.”

He looked at her. “I’m sorry, Lela, I guess my mind’s all over the place right now.”

“Did my dad explain that the scroll may have been destroyed in the blaze? The forensics people found no remains of the leather map case.”

“He told me.”

“He asked Father Becket and Father Kubel if they’d seen it lying among the wreckage but they claimed they didn’t. Dad questioned a few other drivers who arrived at the accident soon after but no one knew anything.”

Jack frowned. “Are you suggesting that your father thinks someone may have stolen it?”

“No, but like most cops my dad’s just suspicious by nature. He’s got no proof that the scroll was completely destroyed in the inferno and it bothers him.”

“Why did he ask me if any repair work had been carried out on the pickup? I almost got the feeling your father thought the crash was sabotage.”

Lela’s face darkened. “I—I don’t think he’s sure of that, Jack. Certainly he’s got no evidence.”

“What’s wrong? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No. I told you, my dad’s just naturally suspicious. It’s the same with every case he works on. He’d really hoped forensics might have found at least some remains of the map case.”

“My parents and Basim Malik were burned beyond recognition. What hope would a leather map case have?”

“You’re right. I guess we’ll never know what the scroll contained.”

“Right now, somehow, that doesn’t even matter. Though my dad would never have forgiven me for saying that. He was so excited about his discovery. He had high hopes it might have amounted to something. Can you turn back to the ravine now, Lela? I think I’m okay.”

“Of course.” Ten minutes later she pulled up to the edge of the ravine and killed the engine. The afternoon sun was still hot, the sky cloudless, a strong breeze caressing the desert. Qumran lay beyond, stunning in the fading light. The pickup’s wreckage had been removed from the gully but the blackened stains from the fire were still there. Jack shivered.

Lela asked, “Are you okay? Do you really think it’s such a good idea coming back? I don’t want you to torture yourself, Jack.”

“For some reason I feel closer to them here, where I lost them. Does that make any sense?”

Lela touched his hand, looked into his face. “Can I tell you something? When my mother died I learned that grief can be a very private thing. One day the person you love walks out the door and you never see them alive again. It can leave so many loose ends, so many things unsaid, because it can be all so sudden and unexpected. Sometimes it’s so very hard to come to terms. We clam up, can’t talk about it. But if ever you feel the need to talk, or you just want somebody to listen, you only have to say, Jack.”

He gripped her hand, wanted Lela to hold him, to feel her comforting embrace, but this wasn’t the time. He clutched the urn and went to climb out of the car. “Can you excuse me a minute?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Something that my folks would have wanted.”

Jack faced toward Qumran and the Dead Sea. He was dreading such a final act of farewell. He opened the urn and tilted a single handful of ashes into his palm, allowed them to trickle through his fingers and scatter into the soft breeze. They swirled, eddied away, toward Qumran’s tangerine hills.

Jack thought, Is this all that remains of the two people I loved? My life and theirs simply turned to dust?

When the last of the ashes blew through his fingers, he held up his dusty gray hand and smeared it on his face. Why, he didn’t know, except that for some strange reason, and just for that brief moment, it made him feel closer to his parents. Overcome, his body convulsed in a fit of sobbing.