The Upper Room

He watched silently as one of Jesus' followers snaked around the corner, glancing back only once to see if anyone was following him. Titus quickened his pace as soon as he lost sight of the other person. He peered around the corner of the house, disappointed and angry when his eyes met only an empty alley. Not ready to give up, he silently made his way along the wall and crept into the alley, encouraged when he heard voices to his right.

Gazing around the corner, he caught sight of the person he had followed. A follower of the Christ. The supposed Christ. He wasn't sure which disciples it was…maybe Peter? Yes, most definitely Peter. The other person he spoke was not one of the immediate twelve. A friend, perhaps. It was surprising for them to be out and about, especially around this time when the Romans had just proclaimed they would be searching houses. Well, technically, they wouldn't be. Not unless Titus could help them out. The body of Jesus had been found, as they said, but Titus knew the truth. They were lying in order to calm the crowd down, to quiet the Pharisees, and to continue their search in secrecy. It would be up to Titus to help them, and if he didn't, he wouldn't get his silver. But he didn't care about that. Not really. He would prefer to turn over those Jesus followers. He was sick of hearing them shout of forgiveness. Not that there had been much gospel talking the past few days. Not since their leader died. But, oh, the well. He had to die sometime, Titus figured.

But then the body went missing. Titus figured it would. They hadn't posted nearly enough guards at the tomb. Why wouldn't the disciples steal the body? All those time with their leader, they would listen and smile in awe, proclaiming him the Messiah. Yes, Titus had heard. And he'd gone sick from hearing it.

Titus didn't follow any religion. Or any god for that matter. He preferred to be on his own. He wasn't about to go fall at the knees at that Jesus and beg for forgiveness. Not that he could now, even if he wanted to—which he didn't. The Pharisees literally drove him insane. He couldn't stand them. So proud, and in a bad way. All those other gods people followed bored him. And besides, what could they do? They were in the sky, or Heaven. Whatever people preferred to call it.

Resuming his mission, Titus walked as close to the disciple and person as he could without revealing himself. He listened.

"He spoke to me. He was standing right before me! Standing in white, not a wound on him save the nail marks."

Peter probably said that part.

The other person answered, "Are you sure it was him?"

"Ken. He told me to tell his brothers and sisters he would be returning to them shortly."

"Hm."

"I'm telling you this because I trust you, Joseph."

Joseph? Titus thought. Joseph of…Arimathea?

"I know. What do you expect me to do with this information?"

"Inform the others. Everyone you know. Jesus is alive. But beware of the Romans. We don't want them to know what has happened. Not yet at least."

"I'll be on my way then."

Titus could even hear the doubt in his voice.

"Toda. And may the Risen Lord bless and keep you."

Titus heard a muffled commotion, and he peeked around the house to see the two men hugging. Peter pulled back, a smile on his face and tears in his eyes. "I must go tell the others."

As he began to turn, Titus ran back into the streets. He moseyed along past a bread stand, pretending to be interested in making a purchase. He glanced up occasionally until he finally saw Peter hurry out of the alley and turn right.

Titus followed closely behind.

After only a few moments of keeping pace with Peter (and hiding occasionally, when the other man peered over his shoulder), Peter reached his supposed destination. He jogged up the stairs, looked through the crowd one more time, and opened the door. Titus ran up the stairs after him and put his ear to the door. He could hear numerous people talking. He wasn't sure what they were saying, but he figured he had enough information in order to inform the Tribune.

"Where are they?"

"This one Upper Room. I saw the disciple go there himself."

Thaddeus didn't know whether he should believe this Titus or not. It sounded logical, but it also didn't. Was a follower of that King of the Jews really just prowling about? Apparently their trick worked. They thought the body of Jesus had been found.

Or…maybe they were just working to hide the real one.

"Take me there."

"What about my silver?"

Angered, Thaddeus said, "You'll get it when I know you are telling the truth."

"No, you give it to me now or else I won't take you there."

In one quick movement, Thaddeus drew out his sword, grabbed Titus' arm, thrust it behind him, and set the sharp blade to his neck. Titus whimpered in pain, and Thaddeus sneered with contempt.

"You take me to this Upper Room immediately or else I'll slit your neck. I won't even think twice about it, either. This world could do for less annoying idiots like you."

The other man reached his hands up in an attempt to stop the sword pressing against his skin, but Thaddeus only pressed harder. He watched as blood began to appear and slide down the neck of his victim. Really, how long could this imbecile hold out?

He heard mumbling.

"What was that?" He leaned closer to the man, still keeping a tight hold on the sword but pretending not to care if his grip slipped. And really, he didn't care.

"Fine! Now just let go!"

Thaddeus kept the sword there for a second longer, just to prove a point, then released. Titus grabbed his neck and gasp for air, shocked to see the blood imprints left on his hand. The Tribune smirked.

"Now, where is this place?"

Glaring, Titus said, "Follow me."

Thaddeus motioned towards his men and followed the other man.

Within a few minutes, they reached the supposed destination. By that time, Thaddeus' anger had reached its highest point. He really wanted to do something different than searching for this King of the Jews and questioning all of his followers. He'd just finished a battle a few days ago with some radicals, and now this? He needed to rest, and both Pilate and Caiphas refused him the luxury.

Titus tipped his head at the door of one house, and Thaddeus sure hoped his information proved logical, or else all this was for a waste. Nodding towards his men, Tribune ran up the stairs and kicked the door open with one swift movement. He charged in the house, adrenaline pumping. The dozen or so men sitting before him immediately jumped up from their positions and pressed themselves up against the wall. They glanced around frantically as the soldiers drew their swords out and grabbed each one of them by the arm. Thaddeus stood in the door entrance, watching.

When the commotion had calmed down, he called out, "Which one of you is Peter?"

He expected no one to answer. He expected them all to stay silent and Thaddeus would need to shout for them to answer, to threaten them, to drag all of them in for questioning. But surprisingly, almost within seconds of having asked the question, one man stood up and confidently identified himself as Peter.

"Answer me this: Are you a follower of Jesus, called the Christ?"

Now he certainly did not expect an answer for that question. He didn't even know why he asked it. Curiosity. But anyway, it was too blunt of a question. Saying yes would almost condemn anyone to death, or life in prison. Especially now, with all this disappearing body commotion. Saying no would only anger Thaddeus, and anyone could see how he was already angered.

However, the man did answer him. And not a whisper answer, either. He raised his chin, stepped forward, and proclaimed, "I am. He is my Lord and Savior, and I will follow him the rest of my days."

Thaddeus blinked, shocked at the straight-forward answer to his straight-forward question. Anyone that confident in their answer was most assuredly up to something.

He turned to one of his men. "Bring him."

"Hey!"

"Wait, you can't just take him!"

"What crime has he committed?"

"We demand to know what is going on!"

All the men shouted out questions to Thaddeus, but he refused to answer. He began walking out the door, fully expecting this Peter fellow to be behind him, as he had given the order, when a woman blocked his way.

"Mother!" someone called out.

Shocked at her bravery—or stupidity—Thaddeus didn't say anything, just stared at the woman. She was a bit older—certainly not young—with dark brown hair. She looked exhausted. Her eyes asked questions, held pleading in them.

"Bevakasha, Tribune. Tell us why he is being taken."

Thaddeus figured he didn't need to answer her. Why should he? She was a useless woman. He could shove her to the ground and not think twice about it. He'd done it before, too. Not necessarily to that woman, but other ones when they stood in his way. Why would this female be any different?

But she was different. Slightly. Brave, yes. Stupid, most assuredly yes. But she didn't seem frightened. She was worried—about the supposed disappeared body or Peter?—and Thaddeus watched as she wrung her hands together and awaited an answer.

He figured he better answer so everyone would stop yelling and just get out of his way. He felt a headache coming on, and that was the last thing he needed.

"For questioning."

A man yelled from behind. "Why? What has he done?"

"He is suspected of kidnapping the body of Jesus the Nazorean from his tomb."

"But I heard the body had been found?" someone asked.

Thaddeus turned, angered. "It has but someone took it out of the tomb, yes? We have factual evidence putting Peter at the scene." He didn't. Not really, but they didn't need to know that.

"When will he return?" the older woman asked, gently touching Thaddeus' hand that was gripped around his sword. He stared at the spot of contact as if he had been burned. Why was this woman so calm?

"If he is found innocent, he will be released in a few hours. If found guilty, he will be imprisoned and Pilate will inform him of his punishment. Could be jail time."

They gasped.

"Or death."

"Lo, lo, lo…" another woman muttered as she began sobbing.

The older woman's eyes pooled with tears, but she didn't cry. Simply nodded and moved out of Thaddeus' way, whispering, "If it is your will…"

Thaddeus didn't really think it was his will to question this Peter and lock him away in prison, and, if found guilty enough, condemned to death. He really didn't care about these disciples or the disappeared body. He would prefer for it to remain lost. But that high priest Caiphas insisted, and since Pilate wished to avoid a riot, or even this mishap, he made Thaddeus do all the work. Of course.

"Let's go," he ordered, and this time, no one called out questions as he walked out the door, Peter and his men following close behind.