There he was, skipping lightly across the surface of the water. He caught my eye and gave me that shit-eating grin again. “Be of good cheer. It is I. Be not afraid.

Her eyes narrowed. “That is not the boy I raised.

Jesus shrugged. “Have you read the Torah? God doesn’t pick the best of the best. He picks the guys who need help.

Jesus shook his head slowly from side to side, then thrust his left hand deep into Santa’s sack. Out came something resembling raw steak, slippery and pulsating, throbbing crimson fluid in every direction. Yanking up my shirt, he rapidly pressed his other hand against my right side. He closed his eyes, and I watched as the healthy liver in his hand became corrugated and cirrhotic. I then found myself, sealed once more within my prison of flesh, disgorging bile and ethanol from every orifice.