Hey Jude

This story is by Allie April Knox and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

The little town of Remington is surrounded by country roads and wooded lands. The closest city is fifteen miles away and consists of criminals, rejects, and dilapidated buildings. The miles of trees, undergrowth, and wildlife that separates them are perfect for two kids and their wandering adventures. 

“I mean, it’s super obvious he likes her,” Ada reasons as she clambers over the top of the ledge. “I don’t why he won’t just ask her out. Everyone else figured it out years ago.” 

Jude follows after her, narrowly avoiding falling when he loses his grip and Ada has to pull him up. “I don’t think he’s gonna ask her out—don’t interrupt me, Ada—because he’s already tried once and she said no.” 

Ada waits for him to remember their path’s direction before asking, “When did he do that? And why’d she say no?” 

“Remember when I had the flu and missed the tournament?” 

Yeah, we lost eight to seven and Venus broke three hockey sticks.” 

Jude laughs and then promptly trips. “Ow. Yeah, that tournament. Mum had me bundled up in about thirty blankets and Theodore brought over chicken noodle soup, because he knows Mum can’t make it and he still had meat from butchering. They must’ve thought I was sleeping—” 

“Understandable, because you were a blanket burrito.” 

“—because they had a conversation about past loves and the possibility of future ones. Theo—” 

“Hold up, your mom has past loves?” Ada laughs. “I thought she’d been alone her whole life.” 

Jude jabbed her with his elbow. “Knock it off. Yes, my mum has past loves. Now, let me finish. Theodore never actually asked Mum anything, but she got the picture. She got real quiet and said, ‘I don’t think it’d be fair when I still love another.’” 

“You know, sometimes your mom sounds like she’s straight out of a Jane Austen book,” Ada says. Then, face a picture of innocent curiosity, she adds, “What’s her past love’s name?” 

“Not gonna happen,” he tells her. He’s about to say something else, something about respecting his mum’s privacy, when a fork in the trail catches his attention. “Come on! We’re almost there!” 

He takes off, slip-sliding in the mud. Ada yells after him and he can only laugh. Left at the fork, over the down tree, he traces the path he took last week—yet another time Mum stayed back to talk with Theodore. 

“Jude!” 

“Just follow my footprints!” 

A frustrated screech follows. 

Jude crosses the low point in the creek, skating across the not-quite-frozen water and its scattered stones. Back into the trees, he dodges branches and jumps bushes. Faster and faster until—

He stumbles out of the undergrowth, into a clearing. 

“Ha! I knew I could find it again. Ada!” 

He doesn’t hear her but figures he outran her by a lot and will just have to wait for her to find him again. So he settles himself a little ways from the edge of the clearing, fishing a bag of crisps out of his bag and munching on them. 

“Chips!” Ada always insisted. “Not ‘crisps.’ You’re not in England.” 

“I’ve never been to England,” he always answers. 

Jude waits ten, fifteen, twenty minutes for Ada, unease pooling in him like sludge in a drain pipe. “Ada? Ada!” 

Still nothing. He’s seriously concerned now. Assuming she followed his trail, she should have found him by now. So what’s taking her so long?” 

Judas Wesson-Tyler. 

He freezes. Someone is standing in the middle of the clearing, looking directly at him. Wait, no. Make that two someones. Jude tries scooting backward, shuffling on the drying earth, but—

And where do you think you are going? 

“Who are you?” Jude musters the courage to ask. “What do you want?” 

We have waited a long time for you, Judas. 

They sound as if they’re one person—almost—one voice layered over the other, each barely distinguishable in their unity. Jude tries to concentrate on just one but finds he can’t quite do it, like there’s too much static or the volume isn’t loud enough. 

It’s giving him a headache. 

We are the beginning and the end, the first and the last, the crossroad and the doorway. We are Janus. 

“I think you have yourself confused with Jesus,” slips out before Jude can even consider the consequences. He claps a hand over his mouth, the sound echoing in the otherwise empty clearing. 

Still sitting in the dirt, he watches the two figures approach him, cloaks whispering, feet soundless. Much like the effect of their voices, Jude can only make out brown hair and mirror-image faces. 

You will find we are very different than your Jesus. You have a choice, Judas. A choice that will affect those dearest to you. Are you ready to make it? 

Jude keeps his eyes on the figures, as best he can, as he stands, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. His mother’s voice races through his mind, echoes of “Don’t talk to strangers, sweetheart” and “Find me if you don’t feel safe” and “Never give them your name.” But none of her warnings prepared him for this, for seeing double, for hearing voices. What would she say, if she were standing next to him? 

“She’d tell me to ask a question,” he mumbles. Licks his lips. Takes a deep breath. And asks, “What are you asking me to choose?” 

Pain or relief. 

Jude tilts his head. “I don’t know—” 

We can take it away. 

He freezes. Granted, he hadn’t been moving, but still. 

The ache in your bones. The one you haven’t told your mother about. The one that has you craving relief like the starving crave food. 

Alarmed confusion crashes over him, a tidal wave ending in the question: “How do you know?” 

We know many things, Judas. We know of your pain, and we know how to release you from it. A bird of hope takes flight in Jude’s chest, swooping through his ribs and soaring around his lungs. But it comes at a price. 

“Of course it does.” The bird falls like a stone, dropping to the depths of his stomach. “What do you want?” 

We want nothing but for you to choose. Pain or relief. That is your choice, Judas. 

Jude’s blue eyes narrow. “What will relief cost me, Janus?” 

You? They laugh, a night owl-like sound in its eerieness. Nothing. Your mother, on the other hand…

Dread wraps icy fingers around Jude’s heart. “My mother?” 

If you choose relief, your mother will lose all chance of ever finding her love again. 

“No,” he answers, immediate, requiring little thought. He raises his chin, defiant. “I won’t doom my mum.” 

You must under—

“I don’t need to understand anything. I choose pain.” 

And just like that, Janus is one person. Headache fading, Jude finds he can focus on the tall man standing before him. 

Your choice has been accepted. You cannot change your mind. You cannot renounce your choice. Ever. Beware, Judas, for you have chosen the hard path. A path filled with pain and anguish. There will be no reprieve. There will be no happy ending. 

“According to you, my mum will find her love,” Jude says, rolling his shoulders. “That’s all the happy ending I need.” 

Janus studies him, brown eyes scrutinizing his soul. He fights the urge to squirm, settling for tapping his forefinger and thumb together. 

Very well. Janus retreats. We believe it’s time we let your friend find you. 

“Jude!” 

“Ada?!” Jude spins on his heel, stepping toward the trees before looking back, past, through the two figures, eyes glowing in the moonlight. 

We wish you strength, Judas. Janus dissolves into the night, just as Ada bursts into the clearing. And we pray to the stars you will prove us wrong. 

Ada crashes into Jude, nearly knocking him flat in her haste to pull him into the World’s Most Painful Hug. 

“Remind me again why you’re not an enforcer,” he says, almost a question, into her curly hair. 

She punches his arm. 

“Ow! Hey!” 

“That’s for disappearing on me,” she huffs, glaring. “Let me know the next time you want to play hide n’ seek, okay? I thought you’d fallen and, like, hit your head or something.” 

She snatches up his bag and shoves it at him. 

“Now, come on. Your mom’s gonna skin us alive for being out after dark.” 

Jude gives the clearing one last look. It’s empty, untouched, as it was when he arrived. There’s no sign that anyone—human or otherwise—had been here. No sign he’d chosen his fate while standing right there. 

“Hey Jude, come on!” 

He smiles and limps after her, complaining about having rolled his already sore ankle while running. He slings an arm around her shoulders, snorts when she tries to push him off and then laughs when she gives up. 

And off they go, Jude using her as a crutch, Ada mocking his lack of balance, leaving the clearing and its god to the next unsuspecting wanderer.