"Bud Webster - Christus Destitutus" - читать интересную книгу автора (Webster Bud)

"No! It's too much! I've earned dying, damn it!"

"You will take His place."

"I said no! I won't do it!"

The angel looked down at the old man with cold eyes; burning cold, inhuman eyes.

"I will tell you as I once told Ezra. Go weigh for me the weight of fire, or measure for me a blast of wind,
or call back for me the day that is past. Can you do these things?"

The old man's voice shook with helpless rage. “You know I can't! I never could! I wasn't born with
power, He wasn't my Father!― He tried to bring himself under control, but his hands and head shook
as if palsied, and his face was as blotched as the tiles beneath his bare feet.

"I was given this choice once before, Messenger, and I took it even though I knew it would kill me. This
time I'm refusing the cup!― His voice became petulant. “You can't make me do it, you son of a
bitch!"

"You had choice in Gethsemane. Here and now, you do not. I am not here to bring you back, or to coax
you, but to tell you what will be.― The air around the angel grew bright and hot as it spoke. “You
will die. You will ascend. You will take the throne. There is nothing else. God is gone, and you have no
choice."

"Bastard ... bastard...― The ancient voice was whisper-thin now, cracked and broken like spun glass.
“Let me die..."

"Yes.― The angel placed a hand on Jesus’ brow.

And the old man's hands stopped shaking; his head fell back against the wall; his worn body sagged
slowly in place; and he died.
****
Back at his desk, Vic grew worried. Pete had been in the toilet a long time, and there was no sound. Not
wanting to disturb the other patients, he got up and hurried around to make sure everything was okay. He
tapped softly on the door.

"Yo, Pete. You need help?― There was no answer. “Pete!― he said louder.

Alarmed, he eased the door open just far enough to look in; he didn't want to embarrass the old man if
he'd just fallen asleep on the john.

What he saw made him curse softly and rush to the old man's side. He felt the thin wrist, then turned and
rushed out of the bathroom and down the hall where Father Nicholas's room was. He returned moments
later with the priest behind him.

"I couldn't find a pulse, padre. Oh, jeez, what a way to go...― His voice was thick with grief; the old
man had been well loved.

Father Nicholas checked for a pulse, then closed the eyes and began Last Rites. Vic stood to one side,
unashamed tears on his cheeks.