Is that why you sent him to the desert?
PARTLY.
Man, you aren’t kidding about the food sanitation issues back then.
THE MORE IMPORTANT REASON I SENT HIM TO THE DESERT WAS TO CONFRONT THE DEVIL’S TEMPTATION.
Thanks for not dumping that hot tub of crap in my lap, I guess.
EHH …
Although, I guess—wait.
Was someone at the retreat the Devil? She ran a quick test, thinking, Is Caren the Devil?
As usual, inconclus—
NOPE. NOT HER.
“Wait, what?”
CAREN IS NOT THE DEVIL, SO SPAKE THE LORD.
“But … You usually open up a fissure on the other side of the planet every time I so much as think about the devil!”
YEAH. SO THIS SHOULD BE A BIG FAT HINT
Hint? For what?
I PROMISED NOT TO DO A SPOILER ON THIS ONE, REMEMBER?
… Yes.
SO I STEERED CLEAR.
Right.
YET HERE I AM, NO LONGER WORRIED ABOUT SPOILERS.
And?
WHAT DOES THAT TELL YOU?
She didn’t have a chance to piece it together before she came back into cell range and her phone exploded with notifications.
Chapter Forty-Seven
She pulled onto the narrow shoulder too quickly, her wheels kicking up rocks that attacked the undercarriage of her junky sedan, and when she tried to compensate by braking harder, the front tires locked up and she skidded on the thick dust to the side of the highway. She didn’t think twice about it, though. Not after glimpsing her notifications to find forty-eight missed called, twenty-three voicemail messages, and seventy-nine texts waiting for her.
Oh yeah, something had gone horribly wrong.
They were all from the last twenty-four hours, and at least she could rule out the people who’d bombarded her as those who’d possibly died. Because someone had to have died, right? Or maybe a tornado hit Austin. Or—oh no—someone had set fire to It is Risen.
She started with the text messages, browsing the senders. Chris, Destinee, Dr. Bell, Wendy, Judith, and Jameson. Shit, that left a lot of people who could have died in the last day or so.
Wendy would cut to the chase with whatever this was about, so Jessica started there. She had to scroll back, back, back through a long, irate monologue, searching for where it all began. As she scrolled, words and phrases like “contract,” “ALL GONE,” and, finally, “Dolores” gave a new shape to Jessica’s fog of dread.
Wendy’s correspondence grew more riddled with typos the farther down Jessica read, but she hardly noticed that.
Blood pounded deafeningly in her ears and every new detail of this catastrophe made it more difficult for her to hold onto her phone as the strength drained from her muscles.
Wendy referenced her lawyer multiple times, and by the end of the string, the tone had changed from shocked to defeated.
Jessica’s eyes burned. “How could she do that?”
She didn’t mean the publicist.
YOU SHOULD ALWAYS READ THE FINE PRINT.
“WELL NO SHIT!” She punched the roof of her car, pretending God could feel it, then caught up on Dr. Bell’s texts. They started with: Jessica, please call me as soon as you get this. And ended with: I’ll keep looking for a way out of this, but I’m not sure there is one. I’m sorry I didn’t voice my concerns sooner. I knew you were close and I didn’t want to say anything until I had proof.
Proof. Ha! If ever there were proof …
Hoping for a bit of comfort, she checked Chris’s next: “Don’t worry not broken. I’ll be out for two weeks tho.” What the hell was he talking about?
Since it didn’t relate to her world crashing down on her, she couldn’t make sense of it and she moved on.
Jameson’s texts assured her that if she needed money, he would help and that she could stay in the condo as long as she wanted. Small comfort. At least she wasn’t homeless.
The accompanying realization that the homeless were about to be without their daily gluten-free baked goods hit her, and it felt like someone had put a plastic bag over her head. No matter how hard she sucked in for air, she couldn’t get enough. She wanted to cry and scream, but she couldn’t fight the crushing weight force of everything crashing in on her.
Destinee’s texts were all caps from the start and mentioned a shotgun, shovels, and a cousin of hers who’d just gotten out of prison after thirty years.
If Mrs. Thomas—oh fuck that. Dolores. If Dolores fucking Thomas wasn’t already in hiding, she better get there quick, because Jessica wasn’t going to tell her mother to put down the gun this time, and she sure as hell wouldn’t resurrect the woman.
No, not the woman. The Devil.
The transition was too sudden, and thinking of her mentor in this new role drove a sharp blade of excruciating sadness between her ribs. She grabbed at her side, feeling like she might vomit up the morning’s smoothie.
There was too much to rectify, too many records to go back through and reevaluate. The interior of the car spun around her. “How?” she squeaked.
HOW WHAT?
“How did I not see it this whole time?”
YOU WEREN’T LOOKING. IT’S BEEN RATHER OBVIOUS FOR A WHILE.
“I thought I was supposed to fight the Devil! To confront her and see if I could defeat evil! I thought that was how it was supposed to go!”
LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT. YOU THOUGHT THE DEVIL WOULD GIVE YOU A FAIR FIGHT?
“Oh, fuck off!”
The last unread message was from Judith: So … I guess I should find another job?
The added guilt that her stupidity had just put Judith, as well as her mother and NAO sisters, out of a job, pushed her over the edge into a blind rage. The edges of her vision went fuzzy, and the pulse of blood in her ears roared.
She twisted around and threw the phone against the back seat as hard as she could, hoping it would break—she really needed to break something—while also really hoping it wouldn’t break. It didn’t. It skipped off the seat, hit the back rest, and then ricocheted into her nose before she could blink. Her hands flew up to her face. “Motherfucker!” She felt the rush of warmth immediately and pulled her hands back to reveal fresh blood on her palms. “You did that!” she yelled at the ceiling, more concerned with having a clear direction to aim her vitriol than the fact that God was not, in fact, in the sky.
JUST TRYING TO KNOCK SOME SENSE INTO YOU.
“Couldn’t you have done that years ago? Maybe have a meteor crash into that goddamn taco shop to keep me from ever signing that contract?”
I TRIED.
“What do you mean you tried?” As the blood from her nose ran in front of her mouth, the last word sent it spattering across the steering wheel.
I TRIED TO STOP YOU FROM SIGNING.
“Like hell you did!”
I LITERALLY SENT JESUS TO KEEP YOU FROM SIGNING IT. YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE WOULD KILL FOR JESUS TO SHOW UP AND STOP THEM FROM MAKING THE BIGGEST MISTAKE OF THEIR LIFE?
Oh crap. She remembered that now. She hadn’t known he was Jesus at the time. She thought he was just a creeper.
“Did he know she was the Devil?”
HEAVENS NO. HE WOULD NOT HAVE KEPT IT A SECRET SO YOU COULD BATTLE THIS YOURSELF.
“And if he’d told me, I wouldn’t have believed him anyway,” she said miserably. She put her head on the steering wheel. “I wouldn’t have believed anyone. I’m so stupid. So incredibly stupid.”
Bits and pieces of her entire life began surfacing in confusing vignettes, as all the nice things Dolores had ever done for her came into question again. But of them all, one that was already fresh rose to the top.
“She called him an idiot.”
God knew who she meant. HE WAS. HE HAD ONE JOB: TO SCAR YOU, TO TRAUMATIZE THE DAUGHTER OF GOD AT SUCH A TENDER AGE THAT IT WOULD ALTER THE COURSE OF YOUR LIFE AND PUT YOU OFF TRACK. HE WANTED TO TAKE SOMETHING FROM YOU IT WOULD TAKE YEARS FOR Y
OU TO FIND AGAIN, IF YOU EVER DID.
But instead, you pushed him into the lion pit.
AND LOVED EVERY SECOND OF IT! WOO!
How many more moments like that are there?
HUNDREDS.
So, He’d been helping her more than she’d thought. She wanted to stay mad at Him, but her nose began throbbing, and she suspected He wasn’t actually enjoying this. So she leaned across the car, pulled out a stack of fast-food napkins from the glove box (she’d known she was keeping them around for some reason), and began dabbing up whatever blood she could find around the cab. She tore the last one in half and shoved one piece up her nostril, using the other to wipe what she could from her hands.
Her It is Risen shirt was ruined, the light blue now a dark, muddy purple down the front.
The truth began to settle in, and she was grateful she was out here when it did. She needed space to feel so ashamed, so devastated, so angry.
The bakery was gone. Dolores now legally owned it.
Jessica thought about pulling it up on her phone and looking over it for the first time, but what was the point? Smarter women than she had already done it and come to the same conclusion: Jessica had fallen too far behind on payments and had automatically defaulted on the loan. And now it all belonged to Dolores, a consequence Jessica would have known in advance if she’d read the fine print of the contract. Or read the contract at all. Instead, she’d let that bitch summarize it for her.
But she said it was okay. I asked her and—
Of course. She’d asked her over the phone. So much of their negotiations had been in person or over the phone, none written down.
In the quiet of her car, the scene came easily to mind: the two of them at the table, Dolores serenely jotting down the contract, Jesus leering at her disconcertingly. Never in a million years would Jessica have guessed that someone could put so much evil fine print down on paper so quickly and with such airtight legal jargon. How had Dolores done it off the top of her head like that?
Oh right. She was the Devil. She probably had a lot of evil clauses and addendums memorized. Including the one Wendy was most concerned about involving the ownership of Jessica’s personal brand. What did that even mean? She was sure it wasn’t good.
After an unknowable amount of time where her brain spiraled down, down, down through her fond memories with Satan, Jessica could take no more. Not right now. She sighed. “I’d better text some people.”
She started with Destinee: Just found out. Please don’t shoot Dolores yet. Just stay away from her. She’s the devil.
Then, figuring clarification might be necessary: The literal devil. Satan. I’ll explain later.
A text came in right away, but it wasn’t from her mother.
Quentin Jones: Everything okay? I just had this feeling that something might be wrong.
She’d text him back once the bulk of the shitstorm had dissipated.
A message to Wendy was next: Just saw your texts and calls. I’m so sorry. I’m on my way back. If you can come to Austin tomorrow, we can meet and figure it out.
Another buzz.
Kate O’Henry: Hey girl. You okay? Hope the retreat went well. Call me if you need anything. The Texas Tech NAOs are looking forward to this Saturday!
Shit. She’d have to cancel the visit to Lubbock. No way she could speak to a bunch of bright-eyed girls about anything right now, let alone answer all their sexual consent logic puzzles.
Dr. Bell probably required a call—after all, these were some of the first texts Jessica had ever received from her, and it seemed weird imagining the professor texting. But calling right now was out of the question. She didn’t have the faintest idea of how to fix any of this and was pretty sure it couldn’t be fixed. But she needed to press pause on the frenzy for the next seven hours while she made it back to Austin, so the call would have to wait. In the meantime, a text would have to suffice: I’m so sorry. I guess you sent the contract to Wendy, too. Thanks. I’m on the road, and I’ll call you when I get a chance. I’m a fucking idiot.
Another text notification popped up, and curiosity caused her to open it more than anything.
Jeremy Archer: Dad just told me. Chin up. Believe me, the Devil is the biggest meanie there is. You’ll get her in the end. I believe in you, sis.
Jesus really needed to get his own cell phone.
Chris, Jameson, and Judith could wait a few hours before they got a response. She needed to get back on the road. Her organs were getting antsy, like they might take off at a sprint and test the cohesion of her skin and bones.
She ignored the steady stream of texts as she crossed New Mexico and finally returned to Texas.
Being on home turf wasn’t close to the comfort she’d hoped it would be. But maybe nothing could comfort her right now. And why should she allow it? Her stupidity had blinded her to the obvious, and while she was so caught up being angry at men for all they’d done to her, a woman had gone and outshined them all with her devious long game.
Not a woman. Satan. Does that even matter?
She didn’t know it was possible to operate a motor vehicle while being so deeply miserable. She drove in silence, sinking into the sound of the road under the tires and the occasional vibration of her phone on the passenger’s seat. What if she just drove off the road? It would save everyone she cared about the trouble of trying to help her when she was clearly a lost cause. She could just take her hands off the steering wheel, close her eyes, and let her misaligned tires take it from there …
IF YOU HOLD ANY EXPECTATIONS THAT I WILL TAKE THE WHEEL, THAT’S NOT REALLY MY THING.
Don’t worry. I’m not relying on you to step in. Seems like you passed the buck along to Original Mistake a while ago.
I RESENT THAT.
What, you want credit for this clusterfuck?
She wasn’t being entirely fair to Him, especially now that she knew about all His minor interventions when Dolores was trying to send more demons after her to screw her up. But still. He could have done something about this, about the big one.NO, I’M GOOD. OH, AND WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN … UH, YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT WILL ALSO NOT BE MY DOING.
What will not be your doing?
The car lurched and a frantic tapping echoed from the hood. Jessica cursed and glanced at her dashboard for a hint. The oil light came on.
A metallic thunk turned the tapping into a deep grinding. The check engine light came on a moment before the accelerator stopped working. “No! Noooo!” She screamed, searching around for her emergency flashers. “What’s happening?!”
THE LORD IS NOT A MECHANIC, BUT I WOULD GUESS BEING FIFTEEN THOUSAND MILES OVERDUE FOR YOUR OIL CHANGE IS A FACTOR.
She’d been busy. Sure, she had never taken the car to get the oil changed since she’d bought it used, but she’d figured the “every five thousand miles” thing was just a ploy to make more money off of oil changes.
She managed to pull across I-10 onto the shoulder. The only small mercy, as her AC shut off, was that it was November and not August. She likely would have died from exposure if it were August.
Stay calm. You have roadside assistance. You can handle this. It took her ten minutes to find the number for roadside assistance through an unsteady 4G network, but she finally did, felt grown-up as hell for having done it, and made the call.
“Hello, roadside assistance. If this is an emerg—”
Silence.
She yanked the phone away from her ear and stared down at the screen.
Of course. She hadn’t charged her phone all weekend, and she must have been in and out of range on her drive back. With the screen lighting up every time a new text came in, it made sense why the battery was dead.
But wait!
She held her hands over the phone and closed her eyes, summoning her power forth.
DOESN’T WORK FOR BATTERIES.
“Shit!”
She leaned her head back against the headrest. “I’m going to die out here.” And part of her though
t, Good.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Jessica passed a miserable hour in the front seat, her windows rolled down to allow for circulation, before the crunch of tires on loose gravel nearby caught her attention. She glanced in the rearview mirror and spotted the black-and-white cruiser.
The trooper took his time exiting his vehicle and approaching hers on the passenger’s side window. She saw the weaponry on his belt before he leaned down, peeking through the window. “Afternoon, Ms. McCloud.”
Hearing her name stunned her, then she remembered the car was registered to her, and he’d probably looked it up before approaching. “Afternoon, sir.”
“Problem with the car?” He removed his sunglasses and only then did she realize how young he was. Possibly only a few years her senior. His chocolate eyes made a quick sweep on the interior.
“Yeah, the engine. I probably need a tow, but my cell battery died.”
“That’s unfortunate. Where you headed?”
“Austin.”
He whistled. “That’s quite a tow.”
She nodded, already having considered the substantial cost and inconvenience this would lead to, and accepting that she would now have to borrow the money from someone else to pay for it, since her already meager earnings were cut off.
“Tell you what. I know a place about forty miles east along the highway that can take good care of your girl. Would you like me to call a tow for you?”
A clamp in her chest loosened at the small kindness. “Yes. That would be amazing.”
“And I reckon you need a ride back to Austin, huh?”
“Yeah. I’m sure I can call someone and they’ll come get me.”
He cleared his throat. “You’re aware I’m a state trooper, right?”
Oh shit. Had she just suggested something illegal? “Yes, sir.”
“Meaning, my jurisdiction extends throughout the state.”
She nodded, waiting for him to spell out the charge.
“I’m happy to give you a ride back to Austin, is what I’m saying.”
In the Details Page 35
