Reborn

Four

Saturday, February 24

You watch with glee as the Judean infants are torn from the arms of their screaming mothers. Those who protest in a more physical manner are brutally and efficiently subdued by the Roman soldiers in your command. The fathers who run to their families' aid are threatened with swords, and those who will not be cowed are hacked down. The cries of the parents and children alike are music to you, their pain and anguish an exquisite ambrosia.

Only infants of one month or younger may be taken, and only in and around this little town south of Jerusalem. You wish it could be all the children for miles around, but your limits have been set.

Finally all the helpless, squalling infants have been piled in a clearing in a nearby field. The soldiers hesitate in their duty. You scream at them to follow their orders. You pull a sword from the nearest and wade into the tangle of tiny arms and legs. You swing the short, broad blade back and forth in a scything motion, feeling it slice through smooth skin and soft bones as easily as a heated knife through ripe cheese. Tiny crimson geysers shoot up, spraying you. The spilling inside's steam in the cold air.

You laugh. You don't care if the soldiers hang back. You'll gladly finish the job yourself. And why not? It's your right, isn't it? After all, weren't you the one who told that doddering old fool, Herod, that the King of the Jews was rumored to have been born in this very area within the last week or two? Weren't you the one who convinced him that this was the only sure way to guarantee that his little corner of the world would pass on to his sons as he has planned?

Finally the blood lust grips the soldiers and they join you in the slaughter. You step back now, watching them do the work, for it is so much better when you allow others to sink to new depths.

You watch them slashing… slashing… slashing—

Carol awoke screaming.

"Carol! Carol!" Jim was saying, holding her. "What on earth's wrong?"

She lay there drenched in sweat, wanting to be sick.

"Oh, Jim, it was awful!"

"It was only a dream, only a dream," he whispered, trying to soothe her.

But the horror wouldn't go away. So real. So real! Almost as if she were right there. The Slaughter of the Innocents. She only vaguely remembered it as a passing reference in one of the Gospels. What had injected it into her subconscious tonight?

"You okay?" Jim said after a while.

"Yeah. Okay now," she said, lying. "Must have been the pepperoni pizza."

"Pepperoni never gave you nightmares before."

"It did this time."

"Here. Cuddle up and get warm."

She fit herself against him. That was better, but she couldn't forget—

… slashing… slashing…

"You're shaking. Next time we get plain—no pepperoni."

But it wasn't the pepperoni pizza. It was something else, but she didn't know what. She'd been having so many nightmares lately. Mostly they had been vague, formless, ill-remembered experiences, leaving her frightened and unsettled.

But this…

Jim was soon dozing again. But Carol lay awake the rest of the night, afraid to sleep.