Update: I have finished this story. You can read the whole thing here:
Judas

Breaking from reverent prayer, I sense the faltering light through my closed eyes. Opening them, I lift up my face to the dimming stained glass: Judas kissing Jesus. The light all but fades as the first plunk of a raindrop strikes the other side of this masterpiece. An example to his fellows, for innumerable following suit likewise darkened the image, cascading against it with violent noise. Each unpredictable drumbeat melds into an overarching roar.

I’m alone, and so shout to the only one who can hear, “Forgive me!”

O the echoes of that cry through the old cathedral. The bite itches, my deal with the devils. The muscles in my face contort, stretching my lips into a forced smile as the tears roll over my burning cheeks. I don’t know why, but I cover my head as I try to keep from weeping, cowering before that image, that greatest betrayal. As the convulsions die, I reach into my coat pocket, my fingers brushing the thin membrane of the Ziploc bag. Sitting up, I hold the wrinkled plastic before my face, gazing upon the solitary gel capsule, its rounded point sticking into the corner of the sack. It seems so small, so insubstantial, one little pill.

“I don’t know God, will it work?” I think about what I’m doing, what I’ve done. “Will I be damned?” There’s Judas, his lips pressing the Messiah, but not in love. Damned if I do; damned if I don’t.

I hear a click as I pry open the seal. Stretching two fingers forward, I pinch the false medicine, throwing the bag away. My hand trembles as I bring the pill toward my lips, its center full of silver powder. I had asked them for thirty, thirty of their empty capsules, and now only this one remained.

“Car trouble,” I told him, “Mr. Johnson called, could barely hear him the reception was so bad, but I think he said something about a radiator.” In actuality Mr. Johnson had not called me about the radiator, nor anyone else, for possessing his phone and wallet before he had left, I with other such devices, ensured my crimes against uninvited witnesses or interruptions. Everyone was accounted for, busy with assignments elsewhere. It was he and I. “Called to remind you to take your pills.”

Related stories:
Stop the Rain
Time and Chance