Detective Emilio Gonzales wasn't easily rattled—his years with Dallas PD had exposed him to every flavor of human depravity and deception. But as their unmarked police car turned into the exclusive North Dallas neighborhood, he couldn't shake the uneasiness that had settled over him since watching that morgue security footage.

"You think the son's on something?" his partner, Detective William Short, asked as they approached the Foster residence. "Religious delusion, maybe? 'Sent back by God'—come on."

Emilio shrugged. "Anthony Foster graduated top of his class at SMU Law. Not exactly your typical crackpot."

From the backseat, Dr. Mai Nguyen leaned forward. "I certified this man as deceased. I examined his body myself. He was dead.” Her voice carried the tension of someone whose professional credibility was suddenly on the line.

"Well, somebody's lying," Short replied, pulling into the circular driveway of the impressive colonial home. "Let's find out who."

Emilio noted the drawn curtains, the absence of any media trucks. Somehow, the Foster family had kept the miraculous "resurrection" under wraps—at least for now. That wouldn't last. Not in the age of social media.

The front door opened before they reached it. A man in his early thirties, dressed in an impeccable suit despite the circumstances, greeted them with the measured composure of someone attempting to control an uncontrollable situation.

"Detectives. Doctor. I'm Anthony Foster. Thank you for agreeing to come here rather than bringing my father to the station."

Emilio studied him, looking for signs of stress or deception. Anthony Foster looked exhausted but clear-eyed, his handshake firm and steady.

"We appreciate your cooperation," Emilio said. "This is certainly an... unusual situation."

A tight smile flickered across Anthony's face. "That's an understatement, Detective. Please, come in."

The home's interior reflected tasteful wealth—not ostentatious but certainly comfortable. Family photographs lined the hallway: John Foster with his wife at charity galas, with his sons at graduations, on fishing trips. A normal, successful American family until three days ago.

Anthony led them to a study that had been prepared for their interview. A video camera on a tripod was already set up, facing a leather armchair. A digital recorder sat on a side table.

"My father agreed to provide recorded testimony," Anthony explained. "As his attorney, I'll be present throughout. I assume that's acceptable?"

Short nodded. "It's appreciated."

"I'll get him," Anthony said, but paused at the door. "Before you meet him—I understand your skepticism. I'm an attorney; skepticism is my professional default. But I ask that you listen with an open mind. What he's experienced... it defies conventional explanation."

After Anthony left, Short raised an eyebrow at Emilio. "Setting the stage pretty carefully, isn't he?"

"Wouldn't you, if it were your father?" Emilio countered.

Dr. Nguyen remained silent, her attention fixed on the doorway.

Moments later, Anthony returned, followed by a man Emilio instantly recognized from case photos—John Foster. In person, he was taller than Emilio had imagined, with the bearing of someone accustomed to authority. He wore casual but expensive clothes: khakis and a blue button-down shirt that didn't quite hide the still-visible ligature marks around his neck.

Emilio felt a chill. The injuries matched exactly what he'd seen in the medical examiner's photographs.

Dr. Nguyen inhaled sharply. "Mr. Foster," she said, her professional composure slipping momentarily.

John Foster smiled gently. "Dr. Nguyen. I believe I owe you an apology for any distress my... departure... may have caused."

His voice was calm, his manner untroubled—not at all what Emilio would expect from someone perpetrating a hoax, nor from someone experiencing a psychotic break.

"Shall we begin?" John asked, settling into the armchair while Anthony positioned himself slightly behind and to the right—a protective stance that Emilio recognized from countless interviews with lawyers present.

Short set up the recording equipment while Emilio took the lead.

"Mr. Foster, for the record, I need to confirm your identity," Emilio began once the cameras were rolling. "You are John Lawrence Foster, born August 12, 1972?”

"I am."

"Mr. Foster, three days ago you were pronounced dead at Dallas Memorial Hospital following an incident at Dealey Plaza. Your body was taken to the hospital morgue. This morning, security footage shows what appears to be you leaving that morgue under your own power. Can you explain these events?"

John Foster looked directly into the camera. "I was murdered on Friday afternoon. I died as a result of being hung from a lamppost. On Monday morning, I was returned to life by divine intervention. I was sent back by Jesus Christ with a specific purpose."

The matter-of-fact delivery of these extraordinary claims created a surreal atmosphere in the room. Emilio glanced at Dr. Nguyen, whose scientific training was clearly battling with the evidence of her own eyes.

"Mr. Foster," Emilio continued carefully, "can you walk us through what happened, from your perspective, starting with the events at Dealey Plaza?"

John nodded. "I was at Dealey Plaza to meet my friend Chris Stannish for lunch. A group of protestors blocked my way, attacked my car, and dragged me from it. They became increasingly aggressive, beating me, and then hanged me from a lamppost. I felt the rope tighten, felt my neck break, and then... I died."

The clinical description of his own murder sent another chill through Emilio. He'd interviewed countless victims of violence, but never one who had actually died from it.

"What happened after that?" Emilio prompted.

"I found myself at the base of a mountain covered in the most beautiful forest I've ever seen," John said, his voice taking on a distant quality. "The colors were more vibrant than anything in our world. As I began to climb the path, my father appeared beside me, looking exactly as he did in his prime. A little further up, my grandfather joined us as well. They didn't speak, but their presence guided me forward."

John's eyes seemed focused on something far beyond the room as he continued. "We walked together through that magnificent forest, where the light filtered through the trees in golden shafts. Though they never spoke, I somehow understood that I had died and was being taken to judgment."

For the next several minutes, John described his otherworldly journey in remarkable detail—the transcendent beauty of the forest path, the peace he felt despite knowing he was heading to judgment, the profound sense of understanding that flowed between him and his silent ancestors.

"When we reached the top of the mountain," he continued, "we entered a clearing of unimaginable beauty. The light there wasn't from any sun I could see, but seemed to emanate from everything. And there, in the center, was Jesus Christ Himself, with His mother Mary beside Him, surrounded by countless saints. An angel of pure light hovered above, its wings so wide they appeared to go from one side of the clearing to the other. I confessed my sins.”

John paused, his expression darkening slightly. "Before I could receive judgment, I was tested by the Adversary."

A tense silence filled the room.

"Satan?" Short asked, unable to hide his skepticism.

John met his gaze steadily but didn't answer directly. "I will not say more about the trials I endured. I am still troubled by them.”

The decisive tone in his voice made it clear that no further questions on this subject would be answered.

"After these trials," John continued after a moment, "Jesus told me He was sending me back to Earth with a purpose."

"What purpose?" Emilio asked, steering the conversation forward.

"To deliver messages to the remnants of faithful Christians throughout Christendom. He told me the world has become deeply corrupted, and His patience is running short."

Emilio watched Dr. Nguyen's face. The medical examiner had shifted from skepticism to troubled fascination.

"Mr. Foster," Emilio said, "you understand how extraordinary these claims are. Is there any way you can substantiate them?"

"I was granted three gifts," John replied. "The ability to speak the languages of Christendom, the power to heal or destroy through prayer to the Holy Spirit, and the ability to pass unseen by those with evil in their hearts. I believe that is why I was able to walk out of the hospital without being noticed—not because I was invisible, but because those who saw me were blind to my presence."

Dr. Nguyen leaned forward. "Mr. Foster, I personally examined your body. I had an MRI taken of your head, neck, and shoulders. You had a fractured cervical spine, a crushed trachea, and a broken hyoid bone. These injuries are inconsistent with survival."

"I know," John said simply. "My body bears the evidence still. The pain remains. Resurrection hasn’t healed all of my wounds completely.”

He pulled his collar aside, revealing the deep, dark ligature marks that circled his neck. "You documented these yourself, Doctor."

Dr. Nguyen nodded slowly, the conflict evident on her face. She then glanced at her medical bag, which she'd brought from the car. "Mr. Foster, would you mind if I conducted a brief examination? Just to document your current condition?"

Anthony started to object, but John raised his hand. "I don't mind, Doctor. I understand your professional curiosity."

Dr. Nguyen took a pair of blue nitrile gloves, put them on, then moved her chair closer as John loosened his collar further. With practiced hands, she gently examined the ligature marks around his neck, her expression growing more perplexed with each moment.

"These injuries match exactly what I documented in the morgue," she murmured, almost to herself. "The pattern of bruising, the depth..." She turned to Anthony. "May I use your bathroom to wash my hands? Then I'd like to check a few more injuries, if Mr. Foster permits."

When she returned, John had rolled up his sleeves, revealing more bruising on his arms and abrasions on his knuckles—evidence of his struggle against his attackers. Dr. Nguyen methodically examined each injury, this time without gloves, taking photos with her phone for documentation.

"Your hyoid bone was fractured," she said finally, her fingers hovering near his throat. "May I?"

John nodded, and she carefully palpated the area. Her eyes widened. "There's still a discontinuity in the bone. It hasn't healed. By all medical understanding, you shouldn't be able to swallow, much less speak."

"Yet here I am," John replied simply.

Dr. Nguyen sat back in her chair, visibly shaken. "I've been a medical examiner for many years. I've never seen anything like this."

"Mr. Foster," Emilio continued, "when you awoke in the morgue drawer, what did you do?"

"I was disoriented at first by the total darkness,” John explained. "Cold, in pain, everything hurt. Once I realized where I was, I managed to kick open the drawer and climb out. I took the sheet to cover myself and left. No one stopped me—which confirmed what Jesus had told me about passing unnoticed. Outside, I found an Uber driver. I got his attention by tapping on his window and asked him to bring me home."

"The Prius driver," Short noted. "We're still trying to identify him."

"I didn't get his name," John said. "A young man. He drove off before I could arrange payment."

Emilio exchanged glances with Short. The detail matched what they'd observed on the security footage.

"Mr. Foster," Emilio said, redirecting, "are you aware that according to medical science, what you're describing is impossible?"

"I own a custom motorcycle component manufacturing business, Detective," John replied with a small smile. "I understand mechanical limitations intimately. But I also understand that the Creator of those limitations isn't bound by them."

Anthony shifted behind his father's chair. "Detectives, my father isn't claiming scientific explanation. He's providing his testimony of what happened."

"And you believe him?" Short asked Anthony directly.

"I saw his body in the morgue on Saturday morning," Anthony replied evenly. "And now he sits before you, answering questions. Whatever explanation you prefer for these facts, the reality is undeniable."

Emilio considered his next question carefully. "Mr. Foster, what do you intend to do now?"

"First, spend time with my family, put my business into capable hands, that sort of thing.” John answered. "Then, begin my ministry and deliver the messages of the Lord.”

"And what happens after you deliver these messages?" Emilio asked.

"I don't know," John admitted. "I was given a time frame—one year and one day—but not told what happens afterward."

The implication hung in the air. This resurrection might be temporary. The thought visibly pained Anthony, who briefly closed his eyes.

Dr. Nguyen looked up from her notes. "Mr. Foster, I'd like to conduct a more comprehensive examination at some point. These injuries... they're consistent with fatal trauma, yet they don't appear to be healing like normal injuries would."

"Perhaps in a few days," John agreed. "My family deserves some time first."

Emilio nodded. "Just one more question, Mr. Foster. What do you want us to do with this information? It's... well, it's unprecedented."

John considered the question thoughtfully. "The truth shouldn't be hidden, but I'd appreciate some discretion while my family adjusts. Beyond that, I leave it to your judgment. I suspect my story will become known regardless of what any of us prefer."

As they prepared to conclude the interview, John suddenly raised his hand. "There's one more thing, Detectives. I want to formally request that you release those who were responsible for my death."

A stunned silence followed. Short was the first to recover. "Mr. Foster, we have multiple suspects in custody for your murder. We have video evidence of their actions."

"I understand," John said calmly. "And I'm telling you, as the victim of this crime, that I have forgiven them all. Completely and without reservation."

Emilio studied John's face, looking for any sign of deception or manipulation. He found none—only a serene certainty that seemed almost otherworldly.

"That's... not really how the justice system works, Mr. Foster," Emilio explained carefully. "The state brings charges for homicide, not the victim. Your forgiveness is admirable, but—"

"But insufficient to overcome the demands of justice," John finished for him. "I understand. Nevertheless, I ask you to consider it. If I have been granted a second chance, shouldn't they be granted one as well?"

Anthony's expression suggested this was the first he'd heard of his father's request. He opened his mouth as if to object, then closed it again, watching John with a mixture of awe and confusion.

As they concluded the interview, Emilio studied John Foster once more. Dr. Nguyen was still reviewing her notes, her medical worldview visibly shaken. Either this was the most elaborate hoax he'd encountered in his many years of detective work, or he had just interviewed a man who had genuinely returned from the dead.

And somehow, the request to forgive his killers seemed more extraordinary than the resurrection itself.