The following morning Judas woke up to the angry and irritating buzzing of his alarm clock. It had been the first time in a long while that he’d slept all the way through the night. He looked down at the little bump in his duvet at the end of the bed that was his feet, and smiled. He’d hardly moved. The fight with John the Baptist had obviously taken it out of him. He stretched, got out of bed, and took a shower. Looking in the mirror as he dressed, he could see only faint grey smudges where John’s blows had landed. There was a nasty one just below his jawline that could have been bad if it had been an inch or two higher. He dressed and ate breakfast. The television on the wall was alive with colour. Football scores from last night’s games scrolled up and down, then black clouds fuelled by
