The Killing League

28.

The Messiah

A layer of rose petals floated in the warm bathwater. They moved in no discernible pattern, the currents slow and unpredictable.

The Messiah laid his head back on the edge of the tub. A small bead of sweat ran from his forehead down along his temple. Incense filled the room with what he thought of as the scent of the ancients. A deep, spiritual connection to the great philosophers of the past linking them to him, the bright light of the current human race.

A gentle knock on the door reached the Messiah’s ears, but he did not move. In slow motion, the door opened and a young man entered the bathing area.

He held a card in his hand.

The Messiah opened one eye and glanced at the young man whose body posture and expression conveyed the deeply held fear that was obvious to the man in the tub.

Everyone knew he absolutely loathed interruptions when he bathed. It was a sentiment so tightly held that if ignored, often caused a severe backlash against the responsible party.

No doubt the young man had been ordered to risk the fallout an uninvited appearance might create. Still, the Messiah was not above taking out his anger and frustration on the messenger.

The youth walked to the edge of the tub and stood in silence.

The Messiah, now with both eyes closed, spoke. “It would be in your best interest to have a very good reason for this intrusion.”

The young man began to speak, but instead, he sputtered. The Messiah opened his eyes and studied him. He knew that stories had been told of his angry outbursts. The masses knew it was the type of fury that often resulted in people disappearing and never being found.

“Messiah,” the youth said. “The house master instructed me to bring this to you immediately.”

The Messiah turned his head and faced the youth directly, then brought his arm from the water and took the card.

He read the front: The Messiah.

The card had already been opened. The Messiah had clear instructions that all mail should be opened and handled with only emergency or highly important messages delivered to him in private.

He pulled the card from the already opened envelope.

Dear Messiah,

Praise God! You are the chosen one! Please accept my invitation to the holy order of the Killing League! Based on your ungodly ability to bury poor souls in the desert, please find our enclosed travel information to the Holy Land of Homicide!

Sincerely,

The Commissioner

The Messiah glanced at the airline ticket, then dropped the card to the bathroom’s tile floor.

It was a good thing the message had reached him while he was in a state of deep relaxation. The anger was slow to grow, but he felt it coming.

There had not been a leak, he knew that. He ruled his flock with utter and total domination. No one had talked. No, this was an outsider violating the sanctity of his community.

An outsider who clearly did not understand the breadth and depth of his resourcefulness, nor his penchant for cruelty. The Messiah began to think of what he would do to the party responsible. His erection rose and broke the surface of the bathwater.

He glanced at the young messenger still standing next to the bathtub.

“Undress and join me,” the Messiah said. “You have violated my private time and for that, you must make amends.”