The Murder of Jesus Christ

Epilogue

I’m near the end of my story. I hope putting it down into a logical sequence has helped paint the bigger story.

When I was arrested, I was taken to a jail cell in Albany because of security concerns with holding me in the tiny police station in Aynsville. I was arraigned the following morning and I pleaded guilty immediately. I was assigned a court appointed attorney, because I’d donated every last cent I had to the church.

The trial made international headlines, but it was over quickly. I was the only witness. I told my story, some of what I’ve outlined here, but I downplayed the business about the alternate universe where a religion called Christianity once existed. My lawyer told me I wouldn’t be doing myself any favors with that fairy tale and to stick with my journey with Erika. This book is the first time I’ve told the entire story about that.

I was sentenced to life in prison with no possibility of parole at Leavenworth, which is where I’ve lived for the past two years.

During my time in the Albany jail, the last of Erika’s miracles happened.

She appeared in my cell.

At first, I thought my mind was destroyed from the stress of the murder. I’d been depressed and despondent, wondering how I could have murdered the daughter of God.

Why was I even allowed to do it? Why didn’t Erika (or God) stop me?

I had the same question about when I murdered Jesus, and every once in a while, I’d have this creeping feeling run through me that maybe this whole damned thing was a hallucination and that I was as crazy as a shithouse rat.

I murdered Erika on a Friday. The other disciples have started calling this Good Friday, by which I was both surprised and delighted. It’s catching on.

She appeared to me on the following Sunday morning. I woke with bleary eyes, my mouth dry, and a long stretch of thousands of similar days yet to come.

“Hello, David.”

I jumped at her voice, more so when I saw her standing in front of my cot.

“Erika?”

It made no sense that she was there. She was dead. That didn’t matter. I rushed to her and held her close, needing to prove to myself that she wasn’t a ghost. She was real, and I wanted to never ever let her go.

After a few moments standing there, I could feel her reluctantly separating from me.

“You did good,” she said. “I am on my way back to my father now. You helped to finish my mission.”

“But, you’re not dead anymore. You can stay here. We still need you to teach us.”

“No, you don’t need me anymore. You have an archive of 301 of my 5-minute sermons. That’s all I have to teach, and my loyal apostles will spread the word from here. We’ve allowed millions of people to find their way to Heaven and taught them to enter a relationship with our Lord. That’s been quite an achievement.”

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but it seemed that it was the best I was going to get.

“How can I help spread your word? I’ll be in prison the rest of my life.”

“You’ll find a way.”

With that, she kissed my cheek, squeezed my hand, and said, “Farewell, my friend.”

She disappeared.

Erika Sabo visited all twelve of her disciples before ascending to Heaven. Most of them have told their version of the story one way or another.

After she left, I realized she’d said there were 301 of her sermons, not 300.

It took me three months before I was given the privilege of watching the sermon she dropped into her library after her death. It talked about joining her in Heaven and summarized that we all need to love God and love each other. It was a farewell video but with an upbeat message: You too can live forever.

Since the murder, Erika’s followers have spread far and wide. They use a simple symbol of a concrete bench, replacing the cross used by Christianity. I like the simplicity of it:

My prison life has been fairly uneventful. Karen Anderson visits me occasionally, and she has brought our daughter, Mary, to see me several times. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. Would it be better if she didn’t know her father was in prison for murder?

I never did understand why Erika gave Karen the pregnancy, let alone why she chose me to be Mary’s father. I have a feeling this is a very special child, but only time will tell.

There is one other loose end in my story. The aliens on the moon. Why are they there? Why can’t most people seem to even remember their existence? And what are they waiting for?

I don’t have any answers, but I have a feeling they are important questions.

See you on the other side.