The pork was delicious. The seasoning was simple and salty, but effective. By the time I stuffed myself with swine, I was ready to take the fattest nap. And since Lucy eats three times more than me, she looked the same way once she was done chowing down. After saying our goodbyes, we slipped out around eight a.m.

Lucy doesn't play any loud music this time around when driving to her house which is different. I'm tired but I can't sleep. I'm too pumped up for some reason. It's like I don't need to sleep. I can feel every nerve ending in my body being pumped with energy, keeping me awake.

"Good job at the play by the way," Lucy says, not taking her eyes off the road.

"Are you kidding?" I ask, "I was a nervous wreck! You're the one that saved it."

"But without you, there wouldn't really have been a show, now would there?"

"Anybody could have played that part."

"But you are the one that tells that part in a way that no one else has seen it before. Yes, we went off script, but Judas, you told me that story about the Devil. You may have forgotten about it until you met me again but there has to be a reason behind that."

I contemplate it. I look in the rearview mirror and Jesus is there looking back at me.

"What if we're both just crazy?" I ask.

She scrunches her brow, "You mean goobers?"

"Yeah, like really wacky bastards."

"Oh so like absolutely duck tits bonkers?"

We laugh.

"I mean I've considered it," she starts, "But as far as I'm concerned this is my reality. This is my normal. I don't know what anything else is like."

"That's true for me too. I don't know what is normal. Technically, this is my normal. So when people call me crazy or schizo, it just reminds me I view the world in a way that not a lot of people get to view it. To me, this is just how it is. But if someone were to jump into my shoes for a day, it'd probably be really overwhelming."

"Or you'd find they're life really overwhelming with how normal it is. And you'd want all this back."

I turn my head towards her.

"Don't deny it," she teases, "I see that look. You feel alive after what we just did."

"I do feel amped up."

"That's called living. Hang around me and you'll always feel like this."

"Nah. I need sleep."

"Nonsense! Sleep is for the healthy."

I chuckle. Since we live in the mountains the Sun hasn't quite risen to completion over them. But it's enough to illuminate the way back without needing headlights.

I try to enjoy the lighting even though it's only going to be like this for a temporary moment.

"I'm just not sure if the world is ready for people like us," I say, tracing the light of the sun with my eyes over the arching shapes of the mountains.

"They definitely weren't ready in Jesus' time. We'd both probably be hanging on crosses by now if we were born back then."

"Yeah. I guess things are better now than they were before. But still. It could be better."

"That's why we make it better."

"But how we make it better is just as important. We have to do it the correct way."

"It's hard to make it better the correct way when everyone else is kicking and spitting on you while you're down."

"But you remember what Jesus said to those Romans betting on when he would die as he was hanging on the cross? He said, 'Lord forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.' These people who persecute us, they think they're doing what's right, but they're just trying like everyone else. You don't punish a child for burning their hand on the stove for the first time do you?"

"No, you comfort them. Then you ask them, 'You probably won't do that again, will you?' And they'll shake their head. But some kids just can't help themselves and they go right back to the stovetop, ready to sear their own flesh. Eventually, you have to leave a big enough burn that they won't ever think about touching the stove again."

I ponder on what has been said. At another time, in another place, with a different set of circumstances, I could've seen myself ending up in a similar way to Lucy. Our lives are so different yet similar, it's hard to say what I would and wouldn't do if I were in Lucy's shoes.

"Besides," Lucy says, "We've tried your way. It's time for the Devil to take a spin at it."

When we arrive at Lucy's house, Lucy is quick to enter her house and go to her bathroom. I wait downstairs and decide to fiddle with the cross necklace Squid gave me a few days ago. I shake it in my hands to hear whatever it is inside of it move around. What Squid said right before they gave it to me rings in my mind: "Hopefully this will remind you to give to your father."

What did they mean by that? To give to Jesus? Or to my late dad who passed away not too long ago? I feel like I didn't get to know him like I wanted to but he still didn't deserve to die at such an age. And now that my Mom is on a business trip and has no way of contacting me. I'm sure she's concerned.

Nick comes out of a door down the far end of a hallway and enters the living room.

"Oh, hey Judas," he says, holding a steaming mug of coffee in one hand.

"Hey detect—Nick. How are you?"

"Just taking a break from work. What did you and Lucy end up doing last night?"

"Oh—just—feeding the homeless and all that."

"Hmph. Lucy's always been big into helping those who need it. Say, is that a new necklace?"

"Yeah. Squid gave it to me. Although I can't help but think there's something about it I have to figure out."

"Like a puzzle?"

"Kind of, yeah."

I hold the cross in my right hand. To give to your father. I remember my Mom telling me that my Dad was considering going to church right before he died. It would be nice to leave this on his grave. But that couldn't possibly be what Squid meant to do.

"You remember when that kid stole your cross necklace and swallowed it?" Nick asks.

"That had to be in third grade, right?"

"Yep. I remember the look on his face when I told him to give that necklace back to you. He just shoved that crucifix in his mouth and swallowed it whole."

"Luckily it was candy."

My Mom and Dad worked a lot. Since my Dad has passed, my Mom has to work extra hard now, so I never really got to see them all that much when I was young. But one person I did get to see a lot of was Nick. Every week for five days a week he would be in my school. Talking to me. Being nice to me. Helping me with homework. Sometimes he gave me a ride home in his cruiser. Really, he's like the third father I never had.

Then the kitchen timer in my head dings. I take the necklace off of my head and drop it on the ground, smashing it under my foot. Wooden chunks go flying everywhere and Nick curses. I lift my foot above the debris and see a black flash drive underneath it. I swipe it off the floor, march over to Nick, and hand the flash drive to him.

"This is for you," I say as he takes it out of my hand.

"What is it?"

"I'm not entirely sure. But I think it's everything. All that you need for truth about what's going on in Hawkin's. About who killed Matthew."

"Judas, how did you get this information?"

"From a friend. Just trust me, okay? Everything should be on that drive."

"I'll check it out in my office. For now, stay here. I've got a couple of questions for you after."

He turns his back and enters his office with haste. I take a deep sigh running my fingers through my hair. Maybe it's finally over.

"Down with the Christ, I see?" Lucy says. I turn around and she's at the bottom of the stairs admiring the smashed wood that was the cross necklace.

"A gift for your dad. It was inside," I tell her.

"Well I hope he likes it," she mutters, picking up the wood and depositing it in a trash can in the kitchen.

"Hey, there's something I should tell you," she says, walking back to me.

"What is it?"

"You remember back at the butchery when I was upstairs and you called out to me?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Well... there was a bodyguard up there. He was asleep. Until you yelled."

I notice the blood on her sleeve again.

"Christ Lucy—" Escapes my mouth.

"It was either that or we all go to jail. And I couldn't let you go to jail, Judy. A pretty face like yours wouldn't survive in a place like that."

"You killed another person Lucy!"

"It wasn't like I had a choice!"

"We always have a choice! You can't just take people's lives! That's the most precious thing they have!"

"But you are the most precious thing I have, Judy. And it's either them or you. And I'm always choosing you."

I rub my eyes with my palms and turn my back. Just when I thought I was getting to her. Just when I thought I broke through. She pulls something like this. Is there any saving her?

"Don't—don't turn your back on me," she begs, her voice shaking. I turn around and tears are forming in her eyes, "Everything that I've done, I've done for you."

"But I don't want this, Lucy. I don't want people to die. I don't want anyone to suffer. That's the point."

"But what about you? Does anyone ask if you're suffering? Does anyone wonder if you're going to die? I'm not sure if you've noticed, but everyone hates you. Everyone at school calls you 'Jesus Freak' or worse."

"My friends don't! They like me."

"But they at least resent you for something. Daniel and your looks. Delilah and your faith. Squid and the cost of their reputation. But you know what, Judy? There's nothing I resent about you. There's nothing I don't like about you."

"You're obsessed."

"Isn't that how I'm supposed to feel about God? To love him with all my heart and spirit?"

"I'm not God, Lucy. I'm just a kid."

"You still don't see it. But it's okay," A tear cascades down her face, "Because I do. You are my equal. My king."

The faintest sound of police sirens grows increasingly louder after that sentence. Either they're coming for Lucy, or that's just a coincidence.

Lucy smiles, a tear falling down her face.

"You betrayed me," she says, "Judas, Betrayer Of The Devil. It's kinda gotta ring to it."

The sirens grow louder.

"Lucy—" I start.

"I didn't think you had it in ya. But it literally is in your fucking name isn't it?"

Lucy reaches behind her back and pulls out the gun from earlier she used to play Russian Roulette. I feel my right pocket and realize she must've stolen it back sometime during the night.

"Lucy, let's think about this—" I plead.

"I thought you were different," she says, moving the gun around in the air, "But no. You're just like him."

"Put the gun down Lucy," Nick says, holding a silver handgun aimed at her and walking into the living room.

Lucy spins the barrel, points the gun at Nick's left knee without looking, and pulls the trigger. Her gun fires, I jump, and Nick screams falling to the floor. Blood begins to pool around his leg as writhes on the ground in pain. Lucy saunters over to him and picks up the gun that he dropped out of his reach. Her crimson eyes meet mine and then she lifts the handgun up to me, pointing it at my chest.

I pray. It's not a clear prayer but I pray.

"Pow," she says, and I close my eyes. I wait for the sharp pain that's going to strike through me, taking my life. But I don't feel anything. Nothing at all. I open my eyes and she's just pointing the gun at me.

Did she kill me?

The front door breaks in and multiple officers with drawn weapons come rushing in demanding Lucy drop the weapon and get on the ground. She tosses it on the couch and then lays on her stomach. A few officers rush to Nick's aid while one approaches me and asks me a question. But I don't hear it. I'm too focused on how I'm not dead.

https://youtu.be/exS_suLtkNA