A Breach of Faith |
Issue 13
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The man doomed to destruction tossed the line over the tree branch with trembling hands, slipping the noose over his head. Sobs wracked his chest. What he wouldn’t give to take back that kiss! He was filled with remorse, but not repentance. He hesitated a single heartbeat, then stepped off the high wagon. The rope strangled him as he kicked wildly. Finally, he stilled. A few moments later, the branch cracked and plunged him into hell. The year was 33 A.D.
***
Snow was falling on the only detectives in Cordova, Alaska, as they headed for decent coffee. Pulling his winter coat over his wrinkled brown suit, Jude shivered.
Jude hailed from the Middle East, but that was a long time ago. Appearing to be in his early forties, he was short for a man, and since partnering with Lia seven years ago, he wished every day he was taller. Lia was a local who wore her hair spiked. She sported a lip piercing and proudly displayed bold inkwork on her body. Her black leather jacket had the words “One Bad Bitch” scrawled in red across the back. Jude cleared his throat. “How’s your oh-so-wise grandfather these days?” “Still writing haiku and quoting Lao Tzu. Why don’t you have supper with us tomorrow?” They both raised a hand in greeting to the barista who began their regular orders. “Poppy’s been acting a little distant with me lately. He doesn’t seem comfortable when I’m around anymore. Do you know if I’ve done something to offend him?” Lia looked over at him. “That’s crazy. Poppy loves you. Tomorrow night. It’s a plan. So. What will our first call be today?” She enjoyed their morning game. “A murder!” She laughed. “It’s been fourteen months since we’ve had a murder. I bet we won’t have one all year.” “I’ll take that action. What are the stakes?” “Okay, you’re on. Um…If I win, and there’s no murder this year, you have to eat akutaq. Yummy Eskimo ice cream, with snow, sugar, salmonberries…and moose meat, cod, and seal oil!” She rubbed her tummy and Jude pretended to retch. “And if I win, you finally have to tell me your given name!” Jude grinned at Lia’s grimace. She answered her phone, the ring barely noticeable above the din in the coffeehouse. “You’re kidding. Where? On our way.” She slipped the cell back in her jeans. “I can’t believe it. We got a murder, a bad one, in that abandoned Russian church out on Kenai Road.” Lia gave him a look. “Will you be okay?” “I hit the blood bank again last night and drank three pints this morning. Even if the scene is carnage, I should be fine.” “I don’t need to load your silver bullet in my gun? No chance of you going into attack mode?” Jude shook his head. Driving to the scene, Jude looked at Lia and laughed. “Don’t think I forgot! I won the bet! What’s your real name? I’ve waited years for this.” “Ah, hell. Astromilia.” His eyes grew wide. “Astromilia! Ass. Tro. Mil. Ya. How do you get Lia out of that? From now on, I’ll just call you Ass.” “No, you will not!” “Yes, I will, too. ‘Ass, officer needs assistance.’ ‘That’s a big 10-4, Ass.’” He pulled up in front of the rural church, parking beside the patrol car that had answered the initial call. Lia frowned. “You call me Ass, I call you Judas.” He whirled and stared at her. His irises burned vivid yellow and his stone cold black pupils became snake slits. “Don’t you even joke about that! I shared that in the strictest confidence, and I told you never to let it pass your lips!” “Well, damn! First, you tell me you’re a vampire, and I’m about to call the white coats, but you prove it with your nasty fangs and blood-drinking demonstration. Okay, score one for you. “Then, after you give me a few years to get used to that, you break it to me that you’re, well, him, and it’s because of the coins that a silver bullet can kill you. Mind. Blown.” She made an exploding motion with her fingers, complete with sound effects, the shrapnel rocketing away. “You can’t lay all that on a girl and expect her to never bring it up!” A low growl rumbled in Jude’s throat, and he left the car. “You’re going in?” asked Lia. “No! You know I don’t step foot on hallowed ground,” Jude answered. “It’s blasphemy and I swore two thousand years ago I’d never do it. This one is all yours.” Lia mounted the church steps and propped open the door. Jude wandered around the outside of the crime scene, watching as she walked a few yards into the place of worship, her steps slowing then coming to a stop. She collapsed in the aisle. He heard a heart-rending wail reverberate through the church and hurtle out into the courtyard. He rushed into the building, sliding on his knees beside Lia, who was keening in anguish. Just as he put his arms around her, he saw the display before him: the sanctuary’s wooden cross bore a crucified corpse, blood streams drying from the gash in its side. Jude’s olive skin turned sallow as he saw the body of his Lord. He dragged himself on his forearms to the front of the chapel, his neck craned to the top of the array. His blurry eyes saw the dead face of Jesus, and he sobbed his remorse. Then his vision phased, and Christ’s visage dissolved. Jude’s jaw dropped. “Poppy?” he said in disbelief. His heart froze as he became aware of objects burning his flattened hands. He looked down, seeing first century Tyrian silver shekels scattered at the foot of the cross. He didn’t need to count to know they numbered thirty. A bellow of focused fury welled within him as he pivoted on his knees. “Lia!” Her head slowly lifted, eyes swollen; she blinked at him in grief and confusion. Jude was unrecognizable, his face contorted with red hot rage. “Who the fuck did you tell?” |
Faith Canright is an award-winning writer from Oregon who creates poetry and dark fiction and is currently crafting a murder mystery novel. Look for her book of speculative poetry and short stories, Shadows and Sighs, co-authored with JD Jentri, coming Fall 2025. Faith is a follower of Jesus. faithcanright.com
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