Necessary Heartbreak by Michael J. Sullivan

coming to Antonia?”
    â€œWhat is this place?”
    â€œIt’s where Jews like you come to die.” Both soldiers laughed.
    â€œI’m not a Jew!” Michael protested.
    â€œOh, you’re not?” asked the soldier on his left. “Then what are you? You’re not a Roman.”
    Michael didn’t answer right away, measuring the consequences of what he was going to say. Obviously, this was no place for a Jewish man or woman. But there appeared to be an anger regarding Jesus as well. So he chose the safe route. “I’m just a guy who wants to get home and see my daughter. That’s all.”
    The soldiers laughed again. “Welcome home,” one of them sneered.
    The hallway emptied out onto another stairway, which descended below them. A waft of stale air overpowered them. Michael tried not to gag.
    â€œWhat is that smell?”
    â€œRotting flesh,” the soldier on his left answered. “Smells good, doesn’t it?”
    Michael stopped, shocked at what he’d just heard. “I’m not going down there!” Instinctively he gave a swift, measured kick to the backof the soldier’s leg, and he released his grip. Michael staggered back but the other soldier still hung on gamely.
    Several soldiers from below heard the commotion and came rushing up, swinging their spears at Michael and knocking him to the ground. He curled up in a fetal position with his arms covering his face in a vain attempt to stop the blows.
    â€œEnough!” shouted an authoritative voice. Michael lowered his arms and looked up. A soldier with a white piece of cloth dangling from the back of his helmet stared down at him.
    â€œHelp him to his feet and put him in the dungeon. But leave him alone, he’s mine!”
    â€œYes, Marcus,” said one of the soldiers. “Is there anything else you need to be done?”
    â€œKeep him handcuffed to the wall. I’ll take care of him later myself.”
    The soldier bowed to Marcus. He tried to drag Michael to his feet but he wouldn’t stand.
    â€œSo, you’re going to be difficult?” another soldier asked. Michael cried out as his arms were yanked up and he was forced to walk. As they half-dragged him down the staircase, he heard one mutter, “I wonder why Marcus has an interest in this prisoner.”
    The other soldier shrugged. “It’s usually the women prisoners he cares about.”
    Michael felt like a mouse inside a maze as they made their way through the twisting, filthy corridors below.
The prison must be huge
. But what struck him most was the noise. Muffled screams and the sounds of whips penetrating human flesh echoed from all sides. The sound of cloth tearing and a woman’s cry for help made Michael wince helplessly. It was hard to believe that only a few hours ago he’d been worrying about what Elizabeth would wear.
    He turned to the right to catch a glimpse of the cells and saw a skeleton, arms and legs still shackled, hanging from the ceiling by what appeared to be a grimy rag around its neck. To his left, he saw a man and a little boy huddled together, weeping, their clothes torn andblood dripping from several gashes on their faces. They turned away and covered their faces in shame. In the cell next to them, a soldier was swinging a metal ball against a fallen man lying near the cell’s entrance. As Michael drew closer, he felt a splatter of blood hit his face. He retreated in horror and furiously tried to wipe his cheek.
    The soldiers moved him along more quickly. “Let’s get rid of him so we can get some dinner,” the soldier on the left said.
    The other soldier nodded. “Move!”
    After passing another bank of cells, each containing more horrifying scenes of suffering, Michael came to the last, where he heard low groans and weeping. He was startled to see Barabbas chained to the wall in the adjacent cell.
    The murderer greeted him like an old friend.