Father Jon looked down at the bottle of Sprite clutched tightly in his hand and thought again of his ordeal five years ago. It was the only thing he allowed himself to drink now. No more wine. He still believed it had been drugged or that he’d simply had too much. His memories of Lupercus were large and vivid, but had he ever known anyone named Judas?
Since he’d returned to the church, to familiar surroundings, the whole experience seemed like a dream. With affection, he recalled the dream of a blond-haired…he wasn’t sure what. Was it a demon or an angel who had touched the cross on his Bible and gotten burned, a demon or angel who had entered into the faith one night on a dark beach?
No, it was too ridiculous to be real. All of it, especially his trip to Hell.
He lifted the bottle, loo
