---- Part 3 ----

“Matthew.”

In the deep recesses of my consciousness, I’m aware that I’m aware. Everywhere else, I could not possibly be thicker. You know when you know you’re awake before your body does? 

“Wake up, Matthew.”

Who’s calling me Matthew? I can’t remember the last time I even heard that name. I lose focus on that because the pressure behind my eyes is so intense. It’s nearly as bad – but not quite – as the vice-like agony pushing in on my temples. I would need some sort of heavy industrial equipment to recreate this hangover. Nope. The room is spinning. I’m not hungover. I’m still drunk. 

“Matthew, I need you to get up.”

I muster enough courage in my right forearm to swipe the threadbare horse blanket off one eye. The sunlight from outside is blinding. A silhouette shifts into the light and offers a moment of comfort before the headache kicks back in.

“That you, Teresa?” I ask. “Larry’s mead sure packs a punch.”

“I don’t think Teresa knows your real name,” says the voice of a stranger.

I roll over the edge of the bed just in time to puke on the floor right behind the door. It’s quickly becoming my go-to spot. I crane my neck up to see the weird guy that was staring me down at Larry’s last night. I look him up and down for just a minute.

“Nice sandals,” I say.

“I need you to get up,” he replies. “You’re going to help me do something miraculous today.”

“What?” I laugh. “Who are you? What’s the matter with you? How’d you even get in here?”

“The door was unlocked,” he says. “Now, please get up. I need you to help me-“

I roll back over and pull the blanket onto my face.

“Dude, it’ll be miraculous if I even get out of bed today,” I mumble. 

Suddenly he jerks the blanket off my face. He stands over me for a moment looking impatient. No – not impatient. He almost looks…not offended…hurt? Before I can move, he forcefully places one of his thumbs on my forehead and pushes hard. He closes his eyes and takes in a slow, deep breath. 

Now, I don’t even know how to really describe this. It sounds insane – even for me – but my headache – the whole hangover – gets sucked out through this guy’s thumb. Even my buzz is completely gone.  I pop my eyes open as he backs away. I am stone sober for the first time in months – maybe longer. My heart races. I haven’t felt this good in years – and I don’t know that I like it. I sit up quickly and put my hands on my knees so I can catch my breath. 

“Hey man,” I say between gulps of air. “What’s your deal? How do you know my name? And how the heck do you get your shirt so white?”

“Matthew,” he says, “I love you, but I need you to get up and go.”

“That’s awfully forward,” I say. “And I’ve never had someone…thumb… a hangover out of my head, so you’ll have to forgive me if I have a question or two.”

“I need you to go get Teresa and head south out of town,” he says.

I’m starting to grow impatient – almost mad – and that doesn’t happen very often. Who does this guy think he is?

“I need you to save some children,” he adds. 

“Dude, what’s your deal?” I shoot back. I stand up and look him in the eye. I know I never saw this dude before last night. I’d know – I’m good with faces like that. But I also feel like I’ve known him…forever.

He takes a breath and sighs it out.

“You said it would be miraculous if you got out of bed,” he says. “Now you have. That’s a miracle for you. Now I need one for me.”

“Who are you?!” I demand.

“Don’t you know?” he asks back, taking a step toward me. “Who would call you by your name? Who would pull you from your restless turmoil and draw that poison from your veins?”

“Who would wear sandals nowadays with a white shirt and a full beard?” I add. 

“It’s a robe,” he says. “Do you not have a name for me? You did once.”

“Once?” I laugh. “I used to drive a Toyota Camry once. I used to have a job and live in an apartment once. I had a name for you when I thought you were real.”

“I’m standing right in front of you,” he says sternly.

“Yeah?” I protest. “And where were you when all this went down? Where were you when the world fell apart.”

“Still here,” he replies. “Storms are going to happen. Loss is going to happen. You can’t have fair weather trust. That’s not how faith works.”

For once, in a really long time, I don’t have anything to say. 

“You don’t have much time,” he says. “You and me can work through this later, but you need to move NOW. These children need you…and Teresa.”

“Why me?” I ask. “Why me and Teresa?”

“It’s what you were made for,” he says. “You used to fight for your students – really fight for them. You were an incredible advocate. And today, you will be my champion.”

I wonder if I’m dreaming. This isn’t really my style, though. And it sure as heck feels real. 

“I will implore you,” he says. “But I cannot force you. Please. Get Teresa, follow the south trail out of town, and stop the convoy with the yellow bus. The children aboard have been taken captive to find and mine precious stones. But they are what is most precious to me. Now, go, if you will. You don’t have much time.”

I sigh and look around my feet for my scabbard and blade, my gloves, and a dust rag for my face.

“Hey look,” I say, “I’ll see what we can do, but I’m not promising anything.”

When I look up, he’s gone. I let out a deep sigh, don my gear, and head out to collect Teresa. 

I find her at Larry’s. Her and Larry are the only ones vertical. He looks utterly bamboozled at my appearance. She sits at the bar eating a couple fried eggs and something that looks like very wet clay. I share my observation.

“They’re refried beans,” she says. “I told you not to describe things I’m eating while I’m eating ‘em.”

“Sorry,” I say. The fact that I’m apologized seems to get her attention. “Hey, look. We gotta get out of town. We got a job.”

“What kind of job?” she says, not looking up from her plate.

“It’s more of a mission,” I say, a little more solemnly then I was prepared to. “It’s a rescue – a group of kids.”

She drops her fork and looks up at me.