Chapter Seven: Breaking Point

 

~/*\~Julian~/*\~

Months had passed since That Day, but life had never returned to anything approaching normal. There was the illusion of going back to work, but there was a fundamental shift in the world. Fear was stronger than it had ever been. It felt like every conversation led back to Ground Zero, somehow.

Everyone reacted to this shift in different ways. Martine worked hard to grow further in her new Faith. Wanting a stronger connection to his own, Julian started studying more closely. Martine invited the kids along to meetings, and Julian gave them a copy of the Catholic Catechisms. Both of them vowed to let their kids make up their own minds, but the kids weren’t fooled. They saw it was a point of disagreement between their parents, and were worried about taking sides.

The world was not reacting well to the change. Barricades had gone up in public squares, so that nobody could use cars as weapons. Police patrols increased, and there were anonymous tip lines where people could inform on suspicious neighbors. Everyone was on the lookout for anyone who looked a little different, acted a little oddly.

Some had started describing it in terms of a Holy War. Julian noted that Martine never took sides, not even on topics that he knew she agreed with. As the world got more and more polarized in their response to the change, it was starting to get awkward that his wife wouldn’t side with him in such debates, even if she never sided against him.

The second year of the new Millennium began, and everyone was waiting for disaster to strike, wondering if the crowds were nothing but a big target. The optimism of the year 2000 was gone, replaced by a certain amount of existential dread. Julian had been waiting for it to go back to normal, and it hadn’t yet… But he was sure it would, soon enough. Any time now.

It was close after New Years, when the stalemate ended, and there was no going back for their family.

~/*\~

“The story came out of Boston. But from what I’m reading, it’s pretty clear that it’s a systemic problem, across the entire globe. The local paper has stories about tip lines and investigations more locally.” Martine said seriously, looking at the newspaper over his shoulder. “Five or six percent of priests, according to the article. How many is that, globally? Thousands, at least.”

Julian had read it three times, and was starting the article again. “My god…”

“What I want to know is how they could ever keep it a secret this long?” Martine said in hushed horror. “Because that’s the really scary part. That the Church leadership knew that thousands of their clergy were abusing kids, and kept it secret.”

“Non-Disclosure Forms is a standard legal tactic.” Julian offered. “It keeps the victims and their families from talking to each other. Everyone it happens to is convinced it’s just the one time it happened ever.”

“Jules, would you please not be such a lawyer right now?” She hissed, when a terrible thought occurred to her. “Tell me that you’ve never-”

“Of course not.” Julian scorned immediately, shaking his head. “But I’ve covered up indiscretions by influential people before. All lawyers do. That's where the money is.” He shook his head. “What a nightmare.” He gave her a dark look. “I know you think this-”

“No.” She assured him immediately. “Our ongoing debate about this is not a factor right now. But our boys went to Catholic school every day since they were six years old. We need to talk to them about this.”

“Not a conversation I look forward to.” He admitted. “But I guess it’ll be worse if we pretend nothing’s wrong. Or god forbid, something happens and we didn’t warn them.”

“Or worse still: Something might have happened already, and we don’t know about it.” She nodded. “We need to have a grown up conversation with our kids; about the world's worst subject. But I think we need to be clear on what we’re going to say; because they’re going to have questions.”

Julian let out a breath. “I have to admit, when you told me I was first going to be a father, I didn’t plan for this conversation.”

Martine gave him a careful look. “Our own family aside… What are you going to do?”

He blinked. “Do?”

“You’ve been chasing a larger role in the Church’s Legal Department. If you ‘land this whale’, then you’re almost certainly going to have to deal with this sort of thing.”

“I… I’m a lawyer.” He stammered. “Lawyers are advocates. We don’t have to agree with our clients. There wouldn’t be much point to the legal system if only the innocent were defended.”

“That’s individuals. I’m talking about organizations.” His wife said, and she seemed a hundred years older. “I was out of work for a lot of years, but even before I became a Witness, I wouldn't work as a tobacconist. Why?”

“Because you disapproved of the industry.” He nodded.

“A religion is the same way. I left the Church because I didn’t agree with the teachings anymore. You still do, so you stay. But now you’re part of this.” She tapped the paper. “You’re their lawyer.”

“They’re my top client.” He stammered out automatically.

Pause.

“You aren’t that far gone, are you?” His wife asked, and she seemed genuinely scared. “Is there anyone you wouldn't defend?”

“That’s the point of our whole legal system. Everyone gets a defense.”

“I agree with the principle. But you weren’t assigned to this case by a Judge, or a senior partner in your Firm. You’re chasing them as a client. You have spent years carefully cultivating stronger connections. And if this article is true, then it means you’ll have quite a lot of these cases in your future. If anyone we know had this happen to them, and they didn’t speak up before? You can believe they will now. How many times can you figure out ways to excuse this in a courtroom before you accept your own words as fact?”

He made no answer to that. Martine bit her lip, waiting for him to break the silence.

Finally, he spoke. “I… should go get the boys.”

~/*\~

“Having the conversation with my kids was possibly the worst experience of my life.” Julian said to Humphrey, later that day at the office. “Please, tell me it’s not about to get worse here.”

“Meaning?” Humphrey demanded sharply.

“I find I’m replaying conversations in my head and noticing things.” Julian said, not looking at his face. “I think I can guess how it goes. The police bring in a predatory priest, and a Bishop or a Cardinal sits down with the Lawyers. More likely a parent goes to the Church directly, and they get the same pitch I give when I get spoiled rich kids out of holding cells.” He started counting the lines on his fingers. “‘This has never happened before’ and ‘we’ll make sure it never happens again’ and ‘This could ruin so many lives’ and ‘you wouldn’t want to embarrass such an upstanding member of the community’. For special occasions, I even break out the threatening one: ‘you have too much to lose, accusing such a powerful person of something like that’.”

“Don’t do this to yourself.” Humphrey advised him. “Don’t draw comparisons between your clients and these guys. You still have to work for-”

“And the families take the compensation, because they’re good Catholics, and they sign the NDA’s. The Church shifts the scumbag somewhere they’ll never meet the victims again, and the lawyers get their cut.” Julian summed up. “Y’know, when one of our clients is charged with this kind of assault, they have to register. What about these Priests? I’m betting they don’t. I’m betting they’re still running Sunday Schools and Camping Trips. I went to those schools. I went to those summer camps. Just like my kids are now.”

“Julian-”

“They knew it was happening! They protected the predators from the victims! Not the other way around!” Julian found he was working up a good mad. “And if they knew, so did you.”

Humphrey glared at him. “You want to calm down, Julian. If memory serves, we covered that in Law School; about not letting your emotions control your aggression in court.”

“Yes, we did. We also covered a few courses on legal ethics.” Julian shot back. “There are laws! When you think people are in danger, when children are in danger, it overrides doctor-patient privilege, spousal privilege-”

“And attorney-client privilege, yes.” Humphrey nodded.

“Right. So I find myself replaying conversations in my head. Times when you and the senior partners took over the Bishop’s cases without telling me because of how ‘high profile’ they were. Except if there were ‘high profile’ cases, at least one of them would have made it into a newspaper. High Profile usually means attention, does it not?”

“Not if we do our jobs very well.” His former teacher was remaining icy-calm, diffusing Julian’s growing rage. It was the same tactic he would use on the witness stand.

“Don’t pretend I’m an idiot: Those weren’t High Profile Cases, they were scandals being hushed up. Financial Scandals? Like Father Eaton? I was brought in on that. What could be so much worse that you don’t risk telling me, I wonder?” He gave Humphrey a hard look. “So… what? You start with a little zoning problem, then try a little tax evasion, and work me up to the really big crimes? Just to make sure I’m fine with it all?” He grit his teeth. “Those kids weren’t the only ones being groomed, were they?”

Humphrey finally stopped being so placid, and when he fired back, he went for the throat. “Don’t get righteous with me. You didn’t do anything to protect those kids either.”

“I didn’t know about this!” Julian scorned.

“I’m talking about Hancock and the cancer cluster.”

Julian nearly swallowed his tongue. “I… I…”

“You knew the Prosecutor’s Office was right about those chemical levels. You picked an ‘expert’ that would tell the Jury what you paid him to say, and never mind that eleven kids are rolling the dice on living past eighteen.”

Julian said nothing. What could he say?

“And Zachary Hancock? There were kids in that car. You made sure there wasn’t even a report. Who were you protecting if not your client?” Humphrey pushed.

Julian felt sick.

“This is the world. And everyone’s got sleaze running through their veins, and everyone wants justice for something… and I’m doing the best that I can.” Humphrey growled with venomous loathing. “A child starves to death every three seconds, somewhere in the world. We’ve all learned to live with it. Everyone on Earth looks the other way. Believe me, rookie: There’s way more injustice than anything we’ve ever pulled. And if God ever had a problem with any of it, He hasn’t said so yet.”

“I am less concerned with God as I am with my kids!” Julian raged. “Humphrey, you have kids too! They all went to Catholic school! It could have happened to them! Or to us, come to that! At what point do we stop defending these guys?!”

“The exact same point where we stop defending every single scumbag that ever walked into our office building!” Humphrey raged back, face red. “When we stop getting paid!”

“Ahem.”

The argument had put them right in each other’s faces, and both men spun, caught out. Gia was in the doorway. She looked like she’d just walked in on her parents fighting. “I-I was-” She cleared her throat and came in, pulling an envelope out, and handing it to Humphrey. At his questioning look, she finally met his gaze. “It’s my resignation.” She said quietly.

Both men were surprised. “Gia,” Julian said gently. “I’ve known you since you were an intern. You’ve paid your dues. You’ve worked your way up… You could be the first woman partner at the Firm. Did something happen? Did someone do something…”

“No.” Gia assured them. “I think we both know what started this. I know Lawyers are supposed to be flexible morally, even with this sort of thing, but I didn’t get into Law School to monetize child abuse. Because that’s the lawyer’s role in this, isn’t it? We hush up the crime, provide the NDA’s, and take our cut, right?”

“Gia,” Humphrey began soothingly. “The announcement threw everyone for a loop. But for all the… horror of this? We’re still talking about less than… what? 5% of the Priests?”

“That’s how many did it. But how many knew?” Gia countered. “For that matter, how many lawyers at this firm were helping them cover it up? Less than 5%? Because I didn’t know. And based on the screaming match I heard when I walked in, I’m betting Julian didn’t know either.” Gia glared hard at Humphrey “And I can’t be sure of who, but some of us knew long before now.”

Heavy silence.

“Even if only 5% of whatever is the problem…” Gia sighed. “It’s like saying five percent of your dinner is made of rat poison. And I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Five percent of this firm is less than half our pro bono department.” Humphrey offered. “Believe me, I understand. The job can wear on a person’s soul after a while. You both need to get your pride in the job back. When this has blown over, you can go downstairs and spend a few weeks helping a brilliant, but flat-broke kid get into a good college, or find a guy with a record and help him find an honest job. Arrange a favorable home loan for a homeless veteran. Trust me: There’s no shortage of people who need someone to fight the good fight.”

“I know it.” Gia said, and she wasn’t angry. She was shattered. “The survivors they’re quoting in today’s paper? Who ‘fought the good fight’ for them?”

Worse silence.

“It’s not so simple, you know.” Humphrey said finally. “You signed all kinds of non-disclosure agreements, non-compete clauses… You can’t just start again so easily. Not as a lawyer. I know how hard it is to get a job like this. You still have at least five figures in student debt to pay off… What are you going to do, if you leave?”

“I don’t know.” Gia admitted, as she turned to go. “Maybe I’ll turn tricks, or sell heroin. Feels like that would be more ethical. Sometimes I feel like I’m halfway there already.”

Humphrey was about to call after her, when his pager went off. He checked it automatically. “It’s the Partners.” He said to Julian, picking up his phone. “I have to take this.”

Julian was about to answer, when his own pager went off. He checked it, and felt his heart tick a little faster. “They’re calling me in too.”

“Really.” Humphrey reacted, not pleased to hear it. For a long moment, Julian could see his old Mentor working the angles, seeing how the ‘trial’ would likely play out. “Well.” He said finally. “Always knew you wanted an office like mine, Julian.” He sighed hard. “Congratulations.”

~/*\~

Martine answered her door. It was Gia. She looked miserable. “Ah.” Martine said matter-of-factly, as if they’d had the conversation already. “Come on in.”

Gia was ushered in gently, and brought a hot drink. Martine listened as Gia poured her heart out about everything that happened that morning.

“Julian and Humphrey are like family. As much as anyone is at the Firm, anyway. Humphrey was one of our teachers. Back in Law School, we woke up every day praying for his approval. Julian more than most.” Gia sniffed. “They were going at it like a street fight. When I walked in, I honestly thought one of them was about to take a swing at the other.” She sniffed, sipping her drink compulsively. “The rumor in the mail room is that Humphrey is too well connected to… well, people in the Diocese. People that will likely be mentioned in a newspaper article or two themselves, some time soon.”

“We’ve had Humphrey over for dinner a dozen times.” Martine hissed. “He’s met our kids.”

~/*\~

The meeting with the Senior Partners had been quick and decisive. There had been a hurried round of phone calls to lock up the Clients, and by the time they made it back to Humphrey’s office, there were a stack of cardboard boxes waiting.

Humphrey didn’t even seem surprised. He started taking his framed diplomas down, along with a few trophies, one or two awards, photos of his more famous clients…

Julian stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do. “They had to.” He said finally. “It’s going to be bad, but they had to protect the Firm.”

Humphrey skipped right past that. “Don’t pretend this isn’t everything you wanted.”

“I didn’t want this.” Julian sighed, finally shutting the door, giving them privacy. “This is what I was talking about this morning. Sooner or later… I mean, how long did you think you could get away with it?”

“With doing my job?” Humphrey scorned.

“You’re Senior enough that you could have refused those cases.” Julian returned hotly. “Did you think there wouldn’t be a backlash when it came out?”

Humphrey folded his box shut firmly. “That’s everything.”

Julian gestured around the office. “What about the books? The furniture? The decorations?”

“None of this junk is mine.” Humphrey scorned. “It was all here when I took this office from the last guy.” He listed the one box off the desk, and headed to the door. Security was already waiting to escort him out. “You know, they’re your Clients too. At least, they are now.”

“I know.” Julian sighed. “But the truth is out now. I won’t have to cover any of this up. That means… no offense, but I can just do the job better.”

Humphrey laughed darkly. “I said the exact same thing, when the last guy was packing up his stuff. No doubt the next guy will too, when you’re kicked to the curb.”

~/*\~

“When I handed in my notice, your husband was quick to ask if I was all right.” Gia volunteered suddenly. “He asked if someone had said or done something to offend me. If it had been a client, he never would have asked that question.”

“If it had been a client, he would have been on the record. I try to take it as a good sign that when it’s just his own thinking, he still wants to protect people like you.”

“It’s going to be hard for you.” Gia said gently to Martine. “This argument isn’t going away any time soon.”

“Yes.” Martine said seriously. “It’s going to be hard for you too, if you’ve left the Firm, and the Law entirely. I don’t claim to know what Law School costs, but I know you’re surely still paying it off. Difficult time for a career change.”

“It is.” Gia agreed. “And yet, I didn’t hesitate a bit. I’m trying to convince myself that it’s a good sign.” She hesitated. “Which makes this harder to say. I don’t know if I can become a Witness. I want to, but recent events have…” She wiped her eyes. “I wanted in on the Big cases too, before I found out what they were.”

“Gia, you can’t let guilt-”

“It’s not just that.” Gia assured her. “I’m having trouble with the idea that God let this happen, in churches.”

“Why in Church more than anywhere else?”

“Why does God let it happen at all?” Gia demanded.

Martine looked at her. “We’ve talked about why there is suffering in the world. We’ve talked about God’s view of all of it. We’ve talked about what God’s doing about it now, and what the future holds, and-”

“But why like this?!” Gia demanded. “Priests, of all people… And they knew.”

Martine looked ancient. “I know. I’ve been having that discussion with my husband since the story broke.”

~/*\~

Julian stared out the window of his new office. The chair he sat in was made of rich, smooth leather. The view was wide, the whole city laid out in front of him. His tie was off, he was bunching his toes in the thick carpet. All his life he’d wanted a plush corner office like Humphrey’s, and now he had the exact same one.

And it’s mine. He thought. I got here at last.

So why do I feel sick?

Julian bowed his head, and did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He prayed. “Lord,” he said aloud, keeping his voice low. “I’ve always known there were some moral trade-offs in this job. But it’s a job someone has to do, and if I don’t make these choices; then I can’t keep working. Humphrey was my mentor, and he was full of glowing praise for me and Gia when we won that huge case and brought a fortune in for the Firm, but I know that means nothing. After all, they said all the same words about him when this was his office. I’ve worked so hard and come so far to be good at this. I ask you to… to forgive the part I played in the sins of others. If Fitzpatrick is right, and there’s good in all religions, then hopefully, that’s enough; for You to know that I want to do right.”

~/*\~

Across town, his wife was having a similar conversation with Gia. “Did you know it’s illegal to show a Nazi flag in Germany? Why do you think that is?”

“I think nobody hates that page in the history books more than Germans.” Gia offered.

“Right. Those people, as a group, were forbidden from reforming. It’s because the group had taken on so much meaning, so much evil, that it could never exist again without invoking more of the same.” Martine nodded. “A Symbol, or an organization, can be inherently wrong, even when individuals within it are still innocent. Their guilt is by association; because good people wouldn’t have anything to do with those symbols.”

“I think it’s in poor taste to compare the Nazis to the Church.” Gia returned.

“It is. It’s 2002, nobody really compares to Nazi’s anymore.” Martine nodded. “But my point is, symbols can be made bloodguilty. That Cross carries a lot of history, and a lot of it is bloody. I left Catholicism because I didn’t agree with the reasoning anymore. You left the Firm because you couldn’t be part of their scandal. Neither of us could rationalize being part of something we disagreed with.”

“I know.” Gia drawled. “I’m a disgrace to the entire legal profession.”

~/*\~

Still praying, Julian opened his eyes a moment, looking out the window to the sky. “Of course, if Martine is right, and there’s only one right way to approach You, then this means nothing.” He continued. “I’ve nailed my colors to the mast for so long, even after this… I guess I’m betting my soul now, too; on the idea that You care more about individuals than you do about organizations; and more about the good we do, than the sins we commit. Including the Church. Including the Firm.” He sighed, opening his eyes. “Amen.”

As if to answer his prayer, his pager went off. It was Zachary Hancock. He reached over to his desk and picked up the office phone, punching in the number. “Not a good time, Zachary.”

Zachary’s voice was panicked. “It happened again!” He called, his voice high and thick with whatever narcotics he had taken this time. “I need you to fix it, before my father finds out!”

Julian sighed hard, looking from his million-dollar view, to the newspaper and its damning headline, gripping the phone tightly in his hand. “This is the job.” He reminded himself. “This is what we do.”

You could quit right now. He told himself. Do what Gia did, and your wife will be thrilled. You’d have to give up this office, probably your nice house, and forget college for both kids… Or you stay.

What do I do now?

~/*\~Satau~/*\~

Takarut and Satau waited a few hours, while the sun set outside. As the night deepened, Takarut got busy, collecting the liquor jars, pouring them out on the ground outside. “My father’s been lying to me about our family history, Satau.” He said seriously. “He knew grandfather was a drunkard. Look around. All these jugs and amphoras… Living by this particular vice takes money. My father is still supporting this.”

“He’s family.” Satau offered.

“He’s scared.” Takarut said harshly. “He didn’t want us coming here. If he had a problem with grandfather living like this, he’d stop paying for the liquor.” He gestured around. “Whatever happened between them, my father didn’t want to think about it again, but didn’t mind letting his own father drink himself to death.”

Their voices woke their ‘host’. The old man woke up and reached for the amphora beside his bed before his eyes were even open. When he found it empty, he groaned painfully and forced himself to sit up, looking for another. He barely registered the two people in his home.

“We threw it out.” Satau said, seeing his intention.

“What?!” The Old Man was up instantly, suddenly wide awake. “No!” He searched the sparse room, before finally seemed to notice who his other invader was. “Takarut?”

“Been a long time, grandfather.” Takarut said seriously.

“Years.” He agreed. “What’s going on?”

“We’re investigating the circumstances of Moses' time in Egypt.” Satau explained.

“Who’s Moses?”

“He’s the man who’s claimed credit for what happened to the Nile.”

“Huh?” The old man blinked slowly. “What happened to the Nile?”

The two of them stared at the hungover old man. “Grandfather, have you left this house in the last five days?”

“If you threw everything out, I suppose I’ll have to now.”

Satau gestured for Takarut to follow him as far as the door, though speaking privately seemed a pointless exercise, since neither of them were sure if their host really knew they were there. “There’s nothing here for us.” Satau told him quietly.

“No offense, Satau... But I can’t leave yet.” Takarut said seriously. “This is personal for me now. I don’t know why, but it involves two generations of my family.”

“Or it could involve neither of them, and your dad’s just ashamed of a family member with a drinking problem.” Satau said gently. “I would never say so, except between friends, but we started this trying to solve a totally different mystery.”

Takarut scowled. “Yes, but we’re here now. You go, if you want. We don’t have to do this together.”

Satau looked back at the sickly old man. “I’ve got one idea. Be back in a moment.”

He stepped out of the house, and Takarut turned back to his grandfather, hauling him into a chair. “Now.” He said seriously. “Tell me what happened eighty years ago.” Takarut held up the papyrus again. “You were part of the Charioteers. Whatever happened, my father revised the reports forty years later, before the two of you became such strangers; before I was even born. Tell. Me. What. Happened.”

The old man groaned, and his eyes finally focused on the papyrus. “Eighty years ago. When I was…” His eyes changed. “Nothing happened.”

“That’s a lie.” Takarut said with gentle certainty. “I’m a scribe. I know when history is being rewritten. I’ve done it myself.”

“Nothing happened.” The old man could see that he wasn’t believing it, and changed his story. “I can’t talk about it. It was a secret mission. I am bound by oath to the gods that I never reveal what happened. I cannot break my word before the gods.”

Satau chose that moment to come back in. “Look at this.” He said casually, holding up an amphora of liquor. “Looks like we missed one.”

The old man’s eyes locked onto the amphora like it was the only thing in the world. “Pass it here.”

Satau came over, and held it… just out of reach. “I believe you were answering our question?”

The old man was shaking. “I… I… I made an oath before the gods that I would never…”

Satau pulled the amphora back. “Very well. I'll pour it out then.”

“WAIT!” The old man cried out in panic, seeing Satau move out of reach. “Okay.” He crumbled completely. “It… It was the midwives.”

Satau frowned. “Midwives? Which one?”

“All of them.” The old man groaned, eyes still locked on the booze. “They were meant to deliver all the Hebrew babies, so that we could keep track of the population. The numbers were getting scary. We didn’t ‘ave an army big enough to contain a slave population that size. There w’s no point having slaves if we had to keep them out of Egypt entirely, or if we never gave them tools to use… So Ramensti told the midwives to kill all the male babies.”

“...by the gods!” Takarut whispered in shock.

“But they wouldn’t do it.” The old man jabbered, only half coherent. “They hid the kids, changed the records… They wouldn’t do it. So after a few months, we got the order.”

“What did you do, grandfather?” Takarut whispered, hushed.

“It took days.” The old man blubbered, wretched. “Every house, every family, every field… The numbers ‘ere the reason why. Every family…” He faded for a minute, eyes going wide. Whatever he was seeing just then, he was the only one seeing it. “It was my first mission as a soldier. We were told not to leave… graves. Nothing for them to rally around. Nothing for them to linger over. No trace. Nobody outside Gos’en cared, as lon’ as the workers kept working, and nobody had to think…” He trailed off. “Nobody had to see…”

Satau looked to Takarut, as if he could confirm or deny.

“He is mad.” Takarut swore, hushed. “There’s no way they could cover that up.”

“Was’t ‘ard to hide.” The old man slurred. “Less th’n five percent of the soldiers were need’d. None of them’ed talk. The rest was hidin’ the orders.”

“And who would even be looking?” Satau challenged.

“Ohh, there was s’me lookin’.” The old man moaned. “Always pol’tics. We couldn’t leave ev’dnce… We gave ‘em to the river.”

Satau and Takarut traded a swift, sharp look. “The Nile?”

“Took days. We tossed them in, crying, screamin’. All the boys. Took days. Thousands of them.” The Old Man was finishing his story, but Satau couldn’t tell if he knew they were even in the room anymore. “The Commander, he saw I was goin’, and he gave me a jug of hard stuff. Told me not to come back till I was right again. But every time I sober up, I remember. He told me t’ remember they weren’t like real people. When that didn’ work, he tol’ me t’drink the memory away, but it’s the only one I can’t kill. Everything else is haze, but the… They call’ it a ‘campaign’, like th’y were fightin’ back! They said not to feel bad, because they were…”

Takarut finished the thought instinctively. “They were only…” He stopped. It was the automatic, standard answer; but in front of this broken wreck of a man, he couldn’t say it. They were only slaves.

“They were babies.” The desperate drunk reached for the amphora, overbalanced, and fell to the floor. “Please!”

(Author’s Note: I’m leaning on the timeline heavily here. Scripture says that Moses was 40 years old when he left Egypt. He then spent 40 years away before he returned to confront Pharaoh. So we know that the massacre that he survived as a baby was eighty years before the Plagues. Human lifespan being what it is, it’s likely that everyone who carried out the order would have been dead by now. I have pushed the lifespan of Takarut’s Grandfather to make this scene possible, but this is a plot and character point, and not anything relevant to the Bible events.

The May 15th, 1969 Watchtower speaks to this point in a ‘Questions From Readers’, which points out that Moses himself wrote Psalms 90:10; which states that a man’s years are seventy or eighty. Given that Moses lived to 120, this seems a contradiction. The article states: “Though we do not know Moses’ age when he composed this psalm, evidently from what he observed he knew that seventy years was a full life, and eighty years was beyond the normal. Clearly, most of the adult Israelites of the generation that came out of slavery in Egypt were not particularly long-lived. Those over twenty years of age at the time of the Exodus perished by the end of the forty years of wandering.”)

Satau and Takarut were dead silent, unwilling to be the first one to speak. Takarut broke the stalemate by handing over the amphora, letting the old man drink himself unconscious again.

~/*\~

The two of them came out of the house silently, not looking at each other.

Finally, Satau spoke. “That’s why Moses refused the title and the honors. Because he knew where he came from, even if nobody else cared. Moses is a Hebrew. One of our slaves, escaped and come back for vengeance.” He shook his head. “My father said that forty years ago, Moses fled Egypt. He was suspected in the killing of a Slave Driver. Where he went, nobody expected him to survive.”

“Forty years ago. After the Goshen Campaign was long ended. After my father became a Scribe.” Takarut said weakly. “So Moses kills one of his countrymen’s abusers, and has to flee. My father is told to ‘revise’ the history books, and eliminates all mention of Moses from the Palace records. Including the question of why a newborn child might suddenly be ‘saved from the water’.”

“Gods, what a nightmare.” Satau rubbed his eyes. “Ever since this whole thing began, I’ve been trying to figure out why this man, of all people, came to challenge the King. It’s because he’s the last survivor of the massacre.”

“A Pharaoh gave the order to kill a whole generation in the Nile, and none of us knew it. And now the Nile is running thick with blood, because the lone survivor comes back to demand that a Pharaoh let the rest of the slaves go free.” Takarut was awed. “The symbolism alone… It’s a better story than anything I could come up with.”

Satau felt his stomach clench. “Can we even report this, Takarut?” He asked desperately. “We have no proof beyond your grandfather’s word. Less than five percent of the soldiers, he said? The records have all been changed, and most of the people involved have died…”

“The Hebrews would remember. They wouldn’t keep it a secret.”

“What can they do about it?”

“They can turn the Nile into blood.”

Satau winced. “It’s a nightmare.” He said again. “We were told to find out about Moses. What we’ve found won’t help.”

“No.” Takarut agreed.

Satau went to the horses. “Looks like we’re done for the night. Time to go home.”

Takarut started to cry. “I can’t go back there.” He whispered.

Satau squeezed his shoulder in friendship. “Takarut, we’ve been friends for as long as I can remember. This changes everything, except that it changes nothing. Not about you, and not about the world. Pharaoh isn’t about to change his mind. If Moses keeps pushing, he’d tell his soldiers to finish the job before he’d give in.”

“You’re right.” Takarut whispered. “It changes nothing. This is the way it’s always been, except I didn’t notice. Nobody did. Your new friend Nem-ur is descended of Pharaoh, and thus his future is assured. You and Khnem, are sons of the High Priest. You’ll have his job one day. Everyone in Goshen is descended from slaves, and they will be slaves, as will their children. Me? I’m descended from mass killers and liars… and I lie every day to make the truth more acceptable. It’s my job. ‘For the good of Egypt’.” He very nearly retched. “Just like my grandfather.”

Satau winced. “My friend, I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now, but… what can you do?”

“I don’t know.” He admitted. “But I know what I can’t do.”

~/*\~

Leahe answered the knock on her front door and froze, seeing his face in the darkness. “Oh no…”

Satau held up his hands. “I’m not here to make any trouble for you, Leahe. I said last time that I wouldn’t be back, and I meant it. I’m not here.” He gestured. “This is my friend, Takarut. He’s… He has questions for your God. I don’t know how to answer them. Your father is the only Hebrew Elder I know…”

Leahe stared at Takarut, seeing the helpless look on his face… and the fine garments, marked with religious and government sigils. “You brought a member of the Royal Court to my home?” She asked incredulously.

“I’m not a member of the Royal Court anymore.” Takarut said before he could answer. “I’m not…” He looked down. “I don’t know what I am now.”

Leahe didn’t know what to do with that, but she sent a fierce scowl at Satau. “You’ve damned my family to worse than death by bringing him here.”

“Leahe, I don’t have a single childhood memory that doesn’t have this man in it somewhere.” Satau countered. “And I will never speak to him again. I have to go back to my father, my post… He can’t. He won’t. Learning the truth has broken everything in his life. Except it’s my life too. I will never speak to my oldest friend again, because the truth has ruined the cozy, ‘approved’ world we lived in together.”

“The Truth can do that.” Another voice said, and they both turned to see Tzioni come in. The old man crossed the room to face Takarut. “What are you looking for, young man?”

“I don’t know why I’m here.” Takarut admitted. “I cannot change where I was born, or who my father was.”

Tzioni stared him down. “Nor can I.”

Takarut could barely meet his gaze. “I found out what happened. We called it ‘the Goshen Campaigns’, but I just found out what it really was.” His eyes were red, full of tears, but he didn’t even notice them. “Whatever the story was, whatever the lies were, no matter what they say… The world does not change to suit them. The only thing that’s taken in by a lie is people. The Nile may not hear the lies, but it happened. It was real, and it was…” His voice hitched. “It was evil.”

“Yes.” Tzioni said softly. “I wasn’t there, obviously. But I’ve heard the story enough times. The midwives were able to save my own father. But for a few months difference, I wouldn't be here right now. And, I suppose, neither would you, Leahe.”

“Tzioni,” Satau put in, keeping his tone respectful. “A while ago, I was following you, trying to figure out what Moses was up to. I found you when you were teaching some of the younger men and women. You said that ‘the true children of Abraham are not necessarily those of fleshly descent, nor those who depend on their own works, but those of the faith of Abraham’.”

Tzioni set his jaw. “Yes. I said that.” He said seriously, and looked at Takarut. “And you? Where is your faith now?”

“...I’m not sure yet.” Takarut confessed. “But my grandfather was part of the massacre. I can’t go back to my life, knowing… I can’t become a broken killer like my grandfather, or complicit in a lie this vast, like my father.”

“You won’t find a more comfortable life in Goshen, sir.” Leahe warned him.

“I know. But it won’t be…” Takarut couldn’t even put it into words. “If you want me to leave, I will. I would understand if my being here offended you.”

“Far less than that does.” Tzioni said quietly, pointing at Takarut’s outfit.

Takarut looked down at himself, and took off the ankh, and the necklace depicting Amon-Ra, the signet ring for his family patron god Ptah… He gave every symbol of Egypt’s gods to Satau, and regarded his old friend.

Satau felt himself choking up. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, brother.”

“And I hope you can make peace with whatever else you find, old friend.” Takarut returned.

And Satau walked out, heading back to the Palace, alone.

Tzioni was silent for a long moment. “Things are changing, Egyptian. For my people, nothing has changed for the better since the first time your people sent soldiers into Goshen. In Egypt, nothing changes at all. Not even the Weather. But things have changed now, and I find myself wondering if what you have learned has changed you.”

Takarut said nothing.

“You… were educated. Astronomers, Doctors, Architects, Scribes… Anything that involves learning in Egypt is taught by the Temples. And all your gods cannot turn the Nile back to water.” Tzioni considered. “In Goshen, we learn from our families. Everything we know, we learn from our fathers directly, because there’s no other way to learn. Bloodline is very important to a Hebrew. Your father is a major part of you, because you are fashioned in his image. Telling me that you don’t want to be your father is… hard to accept.”

Takarut said nothing, but a salty tear ran down his face.

“It’s no small symbol that the river is now running red with blood, after your kin cast so many lives away in its waters.” Tzioni commented. “And I can’t help but wonder if thirst is your only motive now.”

Takarut finally spoke. “Are you not shamed by your sins, sir? Even Moses can feel guilt for some of the things he’s done. The stain of what my people has done to yours…”

“Cannot be washed away so easily.” Tzioni said darkly. “If you’ve come to Goshen for forgiveness-”

“I came because I finally found a truth I can’t bury.” Takarut confessed.

Tzioni looked at him, then to his daughter. “Is that the only reason?”

The suggestion was so blatant that Takarut didn’t know what to say.

“You wouldn’t be the first.” Tzioni commented. “There’s more than one reason why Pharaoh ordered the male babies killed, and not the girls.” Tzioni said with dark exhaustion, the weight of that day still crushing him. “After all, a whole generation of our daughters found themselves with few men their own age in Goshen.”

“Eighty years ago…” Takarut couldn’t help the look at Leahe. “Your heritage is Egyptian?”

“My father was executed by his master. My maternal grandfather…” Leahe didn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know who he was.” She admitted. “And it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Takarut looked back at Tzioni. “No. It doesn’t. One thing you have no say over is where you’re born.”

“What does your choice matter?” Tzioni said plainly. “I was born here and now, and that makes me a slave. You were born over on that side of the river, and that makes you nobility. If I have to live with the scars of my ancestry, why are you absolved?”

Takarut had no answer to that.

“The hammer and chisel forget.” Tzioni condemned. “The stone remembers.”

“Father…” Leahe said gently. “He’s not trying to defend what happened.”

Tzioni never took his eyes off Takarut. “Isn’t he?” He challenged. “Because as I understand it, it’s your job to make public statements. To ‘revise’ certain facts until they’re more acceptable.”

“Yes sir.” Takarut admitted. “I am here, because I can’t do that anymore. There’s Public Relations… and then there’s complicity. I won’t be part of this anymore.”

Long fragile silence.

“Well. It’s a start.” Tzioni decided finally.

~/*\~

Satau left Goshen and returned to Memphis. There were few people in the streets, the smell driving them into their homes. After days of the tides moving in and out, baking in the sun; most of the city stank of blood. Satau went to the Temple, and waited until he could speak alone with his father.

Satau couldn’t meet his gaze. “You named me your assistant instead of Khnem. It’s not because you trust your firstborn less. It’s because he believes in the gods harder than you do. After all, you were the one who taught him to honor all the gods of Egypt, and why would his father lie to him?”

Jambres blinked. “What’s going on? Where is this coming from?”

“I saw Khnem a few days ago. He was begging all our gods, one by one, to turn a staff into a snake, like we did. Like Moses did. He thinks your miracles are real. He doesn’t understand how we do them. He hates himself, because the gods won’t turn his staff into a snake, and he feels like it’s his fault. Because you can do it, and I can do it… and he can’t.”

Jambres sighed, and hung his head.

“If he knew, he’d never believe in anything ever again. Least of all, in you.” Satau said, his voice dead. “You didn’t pick me because I was better at magic tricks. You picked me because you couldn’t tell your firstborn son that you’ve been lying to him.”

“It’s not a lie.” Jambres said automatically.

“No, of course not. We don’t tell lies.” Satau scoffed. “We just say ‘miracle’ instead of ‘magic trick’, and ‘generous donation’ instead of ‘seized property’...” He sighed hard. “...and ‘campaign’ instead of ‘massacre’.”

Jambres twitched. He recognized something in that. Somewhere, he’d made a connection to something that happened long ago. Satau saw the moment of realization.

Finally, Satau spoke again. “Takarut has left the Palace. He has gone to Goshen. He won’t be back.”

Jambres blinked. “Why?”

“He finally found out why his grandfather is desperately drinking himself to death. And why his father is helping him along with it.” Satau looked over at him. “You knew.”

“It happened long before I was born, son.” Jambres said simply.

“Not so long ago, for an empire that talks about traditions and accepts eternal, unchanging rule as a manifest certainty.” Satau said, and for the first time, it felt like he and his father were speaking as equals. “Even in the Palace, I can smell the blood coming from the Nile. I don’t know how Moses did it, but it’s clear that he knows too. That’s a message being delivered.”

“It is.” The High Priest agreed.

“Father…” Satau licked his lips. “I’ve snuck into Goshen twice now, because with a change of clothes, I’d look the part. If I grew my hair and beard out, I’d look like a Hebrew…” He threw back his drink. “I can’t help but notice I don’t look anything like Khnem, though he’s my older brother by only a year or two.” He gave his father a hard look. “You kept domestic slaves for a while. I know that mother sent them away when I was young.”

Jambres regarded him. “You are a faithful servant of Egypt’s gods, and a man I’m proud to call my second, and my son. Do you really need to be more than that?”

“No.” Satau said honestly. “But we can toss thousands of babies into the Nile because ‘they’re only slaves’. It’s not like we have to treat them like people… or like family.”

Heavy silence.

Finally, Jambres spoke. “Egypt is under attack, my son. You and I? We’re the ones who can save it. Knowing what you do now, are you inclined to let it be attacked?”

There was a long moment where things seemed to hang in suspense.

“No.” Satau decided firmly. “Whatever happened in our past… We’re here now. Egypt is expanding, and our gods are being worshiped across the entire map.” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know who this Jehovah is, but if the slaves have their own God… It makes sense that He was able to demand blood for those children slain eighty years ago. It might even be justice. But Egypt is still the greatest empire in the history of the world.”

“Our gods fill every corner of the map, including the one who sits on the throne.” Jambres intoned, and Satau could hear the powerful tone creeping back in, weaving the spell; winning over the audience, though they stood alone. “One God, with only slaves to worship Him? We can win this thing easily. By the time we’re done, there won’t be a single person left who knows the name Jehovah.”

~/*\~Julian~/*\~

Martine and Gia were still talking. They hadn’t moved from their seats, though the coffee and snacks were long gone. The boys had come home from school sometime during the conversation, and had read the room enough to make themselves scarce.

Martine found an opportunity to bring up a new thought. “Gia, let me ask you something: If Jesus was walking around the world today, which Church would he go to?”

Gia blinked. “Well… all of them, I guess. Isn’t the point that God loves all of us?”

“All the people. But all the Churches?” Martine challenged. “The Bible is full of stories where God ordered His servants to tear down idols and icons to other gods. There were times when His servants did the wrong thing and made icons for themselves. Never once in the Bible did God say there was good in any other religion.”

“I get the idea of false worship…” Gia said slowly, reasoning it out like a Lawyer. “But that was thousands of years ago, when people worshiped the sun, or the animals… Hundreds of Churches in this part of the world, all of them worshiping God and Christ. Isn’t that…”

“Holiness in all Christendom, if not in all religions?” Martine tapped the paper, and the headline. “Still think so?”

Gia was frozen. “It’s the largest, oldest, most influential Chur-”

“What has popularity or longevity got to do with truth?” Martine challenged. “There were only eight people in Noah’s Ark. How many people in the Roman Empire worshiped Jupiter when Jesus only had twelve disciples? Egypt had their gods for at least three thousand years. Cleopatra and Julius Caesar struck up a romance, as I recall, a hundred years before Christ was born.”

Gia said nothing to that.

Martine sighed hard. “One thing I’ve learned from being married to a lawyer: Half the truth can be more deceptive than a lie. God has always had one way to worship Him. He’s always told us what it was. A few hundred different Churches had come up with variations on the theme, but one thing God always insisted on…”

“Unity?”

“Among His own people, if nowhere else.” Martine nodded. “See, when I showed you the verses about how suffering began, and how evil was let into the world, the reason wasn’t to absolve God of all the blame. The reason why we care how suffering started is because none of it comes from following Jehovah’s directions. Doing so flawlessly isn’t really an option for imperfect people, but even when the whole world turned away from Him, Jehovah still told us how best to live. And He knew most people would ignore it. Jesus described it as the ‘broad and spacious path, leading off into destruction’. If my faith ever became a majority in the world, I’d know it was the wrong one.”

Gia got it. “So if the world is pulling further and further away from God, then it stands to reason that an organization that’s pulling closer and closer to God would stand out as being a pretty different minority.”

“And that is why you can’t be part of multiple religions.” Martine summed up. “That’s why you can’t ‘believe in a little of everything’. It’ll work in a speech, or at a family dinner, but it won’t work with God.” She took a breath. “But here’s the thing: If God had a group on Earth… A particular Church that was authorized by Him and His son to do whatever was required? That’s the only Religion on Earth that would have God’s support… and His discipline. The one group of worshipers that He would have to keep spiritually clean.”

“You just said that wasn’t possible with imperfect people.”

“Perfection isn’t. But none of Christ’s followers have been perfect. Nor do they have to be, in order to be sincere, honest, making every effort to do better; to uncover and live by Bible truths, and in refusing to accept wrongdoing…” She tapped the newspaper again. “Are these the qualities being shown in all religions?”

“I’m a lawyer, Martine.” Gia pointed out. “I make it a point not to judge a large group by its worst individuals.”

“And I’m glad to hear it, because I’m sure that there’s a few Witnesses that’ll set your teeth on edge if you met them. But isn’t the point of this newspaper article that the problem wasn’t individuals?” Martine countered.

Gia actually smiled. “You’d make a good lawyer, you know.”

Martine smiled impishly. “I hear there’s a recent opening at the Firm.”

Long, emotional silence.

“Get out of her, my people, if you do not want to share with her in her sins.” Gia quoted finally.

“I thought I saw you at the convention. There was a crowd, so I wasn’t sure.” Martine smiled. “That was months ago, and you never mentioned it…”

“We’ve been having conversations for a while now.” Gia admitted. “But I know it’s not the same thing as…”

Martine spoke softly when she trailed off, comforting her gently. “The thing I noticed about that verse? Even in the scripture, even when He was talking to all the people caught up in false religions… Jehovah still called them ‘my’ people. God looks at you and sees someone that belongs with Him. You’re the only one that can tell Him ‘no’.”

“The world has had quite a year, and it’s suddenly very important that I get right with God.” Gia bit her lip. “But I don’t know if I can.”

“You can if you want to.” Martine assured her. “I can help you figure out where to look next.”

Gia finally started to smile. “Thank you. And I’m sorry Julian isn’t reacting the same way.”

“I have faith.” Martine offered. “Sometimes that means trusting God will see me through the dark days. Sometimes that means trusting that the people we love will get where they need to be, even with the world stacked against them. I’m not giving up on anyone.”

~/*\~

Fitzpatrick looked up, surprised to see Julian at his office door. “Good evening, my friend.”

“Bishop Fitzpatrick. Your assistant was away from her desk.” Julian returned, somewhat frosty. It was the first time he’d ever been cold with him, and the Bishop registered the change.

Fitzpatrick deflated slightly. “You saw the article.”

“I did.” Julian said tightly. “Not for the first time today, I find myself replaying conversations in my head, and seeing things I never considered before. For instance, that cocktail party where you invited my wife to join your fundraisers? I noticed your Cardinal and the District Attorney, slipping off to make phone calls. If I wanted to cover up a crime like this, the only way to do it would be to make sure the charges were never pressed.”

Fitzpatrick turned to stone. “I think that’s a question you should ask Humphrey.”

“I haven’t asked you any questions.” Julian returned. “And Humphrey has resigned from the Firm.”

Fitzpatrick blinked, surprised. “He did? Why would he do that?”

“Well it wasn’t out of moral outrage. He already knew everything, didn’t he?” Julian sneered lightly. “He left, because he was asked to. The revelations from Boston have caused a backlash against the Firm. Our other Clients know we’ve been chasing the Diocese as a Client. The Partners want us to distance ourselves from this mess, but they don’t want to sacrifice your business.”

“So instead… what? They distance themselves from their own employees?”

“For obvious reasons, Humphrey hasn’t admitted to helping any of these cover-ups. But if he ever did do that sort of thing, he’d be dragged through the mud. The Partners are making sure he doesn’t get any mud on the rest of us.” He shrugged elaborately. “Just business.”

“You told me once that the Clients you build relationships with are your worth to the Firm…”

“The Senior Partners were clever enough to remind all Humphrey’s clients that he was your most ‘sound’ legal counsel.” Julian nodded. “They’d all seen the article too. They were happy to get a new lawyer.”

Fitzpatrick sighed. “It’s clear you’ve lost respect for me too, but-”

“They gave me Humphrey’s job.” Julian cut him off. “You’re my client now.”

Fitzpatrick blinked. “I am?”

“I can’t pass up a promotion like that. It’s what I’ve been working for my whole life.” Julian said flatly. I hate you for ruining this. The crowning achievement of my whole career. “When the inevitable class action suit comes, I can probably help.”

“I haven’t heard of any plans to sue the newspaper that broke the story-”

“I mean a class action against you or the Cardinal.” Julian told him. “Rumor is, there’s more than one being organized by survivors and their families, all over the country. As your lawyer, I have to advise that The Church not sue the newspapers for defamation. Because if they do, then you’ll be giving the Prosecutor's Office a chance to dig through every time one of the Priests under your authority did something. I’m betting a team of lawyers would find more dirt on the Archdiocese than they will on the victims.” He let that thought linger. “Of course, it may not come to that. The D.A.’s office, the police captains, the Judges… They all have people who looked the other way. They’ll protect their own, just like you. Getting traction on a lawsuit will be tough.”

“We’ll weather this.” Fitzpatrick promised. “I’ve said more than once that the Church takes the Long View on everything. The downside of that is that we can be slow to react to things.”

“Yeah. Centuries ago, accusations like this were settled by public floggings and direct appeals to the king.” Julian retorted. “Out of court arbitration? That’s progress.” He tapped his forehead. “I have an excellent memory for how people phrase things. Finding the right choice of words is often make-or-break in my job.”

Fitzpatrick winced, recognizing the joke he’d made long before. “The Church was able to weather the shame of things like Inquisitions and Crusades. It’s not the first time we’ve had to get our house in order.”

“Mm.” Julian sighed. “My wife left the Church some time ago, for an unrelated reason. She wanted us to pull the boys out of their expensive private school, because it was Church run. I fought her on that, since it was an excellent prep school. But I can’t do that any more.”

Fitzpatrick said nothing.

“The boys are… divided. One of them wants to understand God, the other has decided this is proof that God can’t be real. And as for me…” Julian pulled a folded piece of paper out his pocket, and handed it to him. “This is my written request to have my sons removed from the membership rolls of the Church. In my opinion, as their father, it’s in their best interests that they not be taught at a Catholic school.”

“And you?” Fitzpatrick asked.

“I’m staying.” Julian sighed. “I’m sure the Diocese would prefer I stay a ‘loyal member of the brotherhood’ if I’m going to be in your corner for what comes next. Even if you decide I’m no longer ‘your man’, you can’t replace me until next week at the earliest.” He turned to go. “The Press will likely have questions for you before that; and if they don’t, a few of your parishioners will.” He said as he walked out. “I have to go help a rich kid escape the consequences of starting a bar fight. We’ll talk about your thing tomorrow. I’ll be back in the morning, and we can discuss your official position. You want to be very consistent in your answers; because the Press will talk to all the people you’ll talk to, and compare your statements.”

“Julian,” Fitzpatrick called after him, and the lawyer stopped at the door. “We will make this right, eventually. I know you’re expecting me to pick new representation soon, in the wake of this; but I won’t do it. I’m not giving up on anyone. The way I see it, the Church has to earn back the trust of a lot of people right now. I, for one, plan to start with you, my old friend.”

Julian said nothing, wincing. Even a month before, hearing the term of endearment would have been life-changing.

Fitzpatrick nodded after him. “Tomorrow then. I’ll order some food. I’m buying.”

“Yes, you are. Our business meals are going in my expense report now. You can afford it.” Julian said stiffly as he walked out. He didn’t even look back.

~/*\~~/*\~~/*\~

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