In the Details

by H. Claire Taylor

  “Uuugh, don’t say it.”

  “I can’t arrest you on murder.”

  “Oh come on!” Why was this so hard? She was a stupid idiot who’d been duped by the Devil and had lost control and killed a man. Was there no justice in this world? Her self-punishment alone didn’t even come close to what she deserved.

  “If you’re really set on being arrested, I can take you in on assault.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Yes. Thank you. That’ll do for now.”

  Langley glanced at McBride who shrugged then pulled her cuffs from her belt. “Sorry, but I gotta cuff you if you’re going in the back seat. It’s policy.”

  “Of course. One quick request? Could you disable the security system before you lead me out there? I’d rather not risk it getting out.”

  The detective nodded respectfully.

  As McBride steered Jessica toward the broken back door, Langley gathered Jessica’s small pile of things and followed.

  She’d started the day in such a good place, but that walk with Caren around the property seemed like ages ago now. In the span of a single day, Jessica’s life had been ruined.

  Chapter Fifty

  It hadn’t been a difficult decision who to call from jail.

  The only other time Jessica had tried to get herself arrested, following the hit-and-miracle-and-run of Mrs. Wurst during Jessica’s senior year, she’d failed. She’d almost failed again, except the punch had saved her.

  Destinee had been waiting for a call like this her whole life. Jessica’s very first assault charge. At least among the rest of the horrifying day, she’d managed to make her mother proud.

  Jessica’s knuckles still ached as the jail door clanked shut behind her.

  The phone conversation rang in her ears: Destinee asking Jessica to repeat herself, Jessica doing so and then finally begging Destinee not to attempt to break her out.

  She belonged here. It was punishment for a life of stupidity, of allowing herself to be manipulated, of trusting the wrong person, of asking others to trust her.

  Another woman occupied the jail cell, but she was pretending to be asleep, curled on her side on the bench, knees hugged to her chest. But Jessica hadn’t missed it when the woman snuck a covert glance at her new roomie. And she also hadn’t missed the way the woman’s eyes widened when she saw the blood down Jessica’s front.

  The light blue T-shirt was for sure stained beyond the abilities of a good dry-clean now.

  After extended conversation between Langley, McBride, and a Detective Primtree, murder charges had finally been brought against her. McBride assured her they wouldn’t stick, but that didn’t matter. It meant Jessica was in here for a good long while. She wouldn’t find out until they presented it to a judge the next morning what her bond would be set at, but it didn’t matter; she couldn’t afford to pay it if it were any higher than $100, and she hoped for the sake of the justice system and public safety, that bond for murder was always set higher than triple digits.

  The night stretched on, and Jessica lay on the unforgiving metal bench, staring up at the dusty ceiling tiles.

  It was almost impressive how entirely she’d ruined everything. Because this was all her. No point blaming the Devil for being evil. That was the whole point of the Devil, wasn’t it? Which meant that there was no one else to blame, no one to wallow with her disappointment and misery, besides herself. And wallow she would.

  After all, Dolores hadn’t killed someone. Jessica had.

  She had smote another human being, taken his life because he made her a little uncomfortable.

  HE WAS STALKING YOU.

  So? He has the right to do that.

  … NOT LEGALLY OR MORALLY SPEAKING.

  Still, is it worth killing him over?

  CLEARLY.

  And is he … Where is he now?

  ALL OVER THE FRONT OF YOUR SHIRT.

  Why did she even try with Him?

  I don’t mean that. I mean, what happens to someone’s soul when I smite them?

  YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW?

  Yes.

  YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LIKE IT.

  Good.

  OKAY THEN, MISS MASOCHIST. WHEN SOMEONE IS SMOTE, THEIR SOUL GOES TO … LET’S CALL IT “HEAVEN.”

  Hold up. Everyone I smite goes to Heaven? So, if I went around smiting awful people, I’d be rewarding them?

  THE LORD HAD NOT THOUGHT ABOUT IT LIKE THAT, BUT YES.

  You mean that jerk is now hanging out in the clouds stalking people who earned their way there?

  HEAVEN IS NOT IN THE CLOUDS.

  But you get my point.

  YES. YOU ARE STILL WRONG. WHEN YOU SMITE, YOU CLEANSE THE SOUL OF ITS EVIL IMPULSES, SO IT NEEDS NO FURTHER PUNISHMENT. ALSO, THERE IS NO HANGING OUT IN HEAVEN BECAUSE SOULS HAVE NO PHYSICAL FORM. THEY’RE ALL SPREAD OUT AND MIXED TOGETHER.

  She shook her head and stuck the butt of her hands into her eye sockets. Stop there, please. I don’t want to know any of the secrets of the universe right now.

  Perhaps because He felt sorry for her, He did as she requested, and she was left to spiral down into darker funnels of thought.

  After silent hours, though, the self-flagellation grew a little dull, and as heated emotions thinned, her mind was able to pierce the fog and grasp at a few inconsistencies that had been politely tapping her on the shoulder since the moment it finally made it through her thick skull who Dolores Thomas really was.

  What about all the times Dolores had helped her? She’d saved her from bullies, given her special treatment, and even sparing her the trauma of watching Randy get torn to shreds seemed very un-Devil-like.

  Why would she do that?

  I UNDERSTAND WHY YOU WOULD WANT THE DEVIL TO BE OBVIOUS IN HER EVIL DEEDS. BUT THAT WOULDN’T HAVE MADE HER EFFECTIVE, WOULD IT?

  Can the Devil do good? Is that even possible?

  DOING GOOD AND BEING GOOD ARE DIFFERENT THINGS. ANYONE CAN DO GOOD FOR THE SAKE OF EVIL, JUST AS ANYONE CAN DO EVIL FOR THE SAKE OF GOOD.

  Which one is better?

  INTERESTING QUESTION. BUT BEFORE WE GET INTO IT, THE LORD HAS A QUESTION FOR YOU: YOU STILL HAVE THAT GET-OUT-OF-JAIL-FREE CARD, CORRECT?

  What?

  The lock on the cell clanked and Jessica bolted up straight, surprised she hadn’t heard the guard approaching. The door opened and he waved her toward him wordlessly. When he didn’t place handcuffs on her, she knew something was up. “Where are you taking me? Oh, hell. Don’t tell me they dropped the charges.”

  “Nope. But your bond was posted a few hours ago and someone paid your bail.”

  “What? Who?”

  He shrugged, of course. What did he care who did it?

  “Do you know what it was set at?”

  He shrugged again. “Someone’s here to take you home.”

  They passed through a door and Jessica spotted her mother waiting at the other side of the intake desk. When Destinee’s mouth fell open, reminding Jess that she was still covered in dried blood. “Holy hell, baby!” An officer stopped her mother before she could pass the desk, and she only swatted him a few times before behaving herself.

  Once Jessica had collected her things, handing Asha to her mother to make sure the giraffe didn’t end up with too much of her stalker’s DNA, the two McCloud women left the jail, stepping to into the bright outdoors. “I woulda brought you a new shirt and pants if I’da known.”

  Jessica squinted against the sunlight. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly ten in the morning. You hungry?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Right. Let’s get ya cleaned up, and I’ll fix some pancakes.”

  As they arrived at Destinee’s relatively new Nissan in the parking lot. Jessica asked, “Did you pay my bail?”

  “Nope.”

  “Any idea who did?”

  “Not a clue. Just got a message from McBride saying someone had and you might need a lift.”

  “A message?”

  Destinee unlocked the ca
r door. “Yeah. On Facebook.” She slipped into the driver’s seat and Jessica hurried in on her side.

  “You’re Facebook friends with Officer McBride?”

  “Well, sure. It’s hard as hell to make new friends when you’re my age. Gotta take ’em where you can.”

  Destinee started the car and Jessica said, “Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t know—”

  “Not yet, baby. We ain’t even left the property. Let’s get the guts off you and get you a proper shower, some carbs, and a bit of sleep, then you can needlessly apologize to me for trusting someone who’s been grooming you since you were a child and had everyone else fooled as well.” She snuck a sideways glance at her daughter before reaching over to grab a pinch of Jessica’s stomach. “Damn, baby. I thought it was a leadership retreat, not fat camp. You’re gonna need a lot of goddamn pancakes.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Jessica’s ears rang as she laid on the couch of her condo, staring up at the ceiling and wishing half-heartedly she were back on the stainless steel bench in the jail. At least there she was safe from the text messages. At least there she felt like she was serving out a penance. Here, though, in the temperature-controlled room surrounded by luxury she hadn’t paid for, she felt layer upon layer of guilt settle in her stomach.

  She thought about going to bed, but she didn’t deserve the comfort of that memory foam. And retreating into her bedroom seemed somehow final, while lying on the couch felt like a temporary break. Granted, it was one she didn’t deserve …

  How did she feel like she had so much to do and yet had nothing to do?

  You knew this was coming. You’ve known since you were eight. And you just pretended it was no big deal, like if you ignored it long enough it wouldn’t happen, and now here you are.

  Of course you couldn’t run the business well—look at everything else about your life! You fail at everything you try.

  You’re just another college dropout. Stop pretending it was to start the bakery. You just didn’t want to go to class anymore, so you found an excuse. And then you got everyone you know to give you money so you could keep pretending.

  You deserve this. You took her money. You deserve every second of this.

  She left her phone on vibrate so she knew damn well every time someone had something to say to her about the events of the last few days.

  Wendy and Dr. Bell thought she was an idiot. Cash had sent her the most passive-aggressive text thanking her for putting them out of a job.

  And that was just the people who’d come forward to explain what an asshole she was.

  The others had been kinder in stating how her major failure had screwed them over.

  Maddy, Tamara, and Jade, who she’d only just hired, were all out of a job.

  Jesus would have to do without the food for the homeless, and that would quickly make the local population restless.

  Jameson would undoubtedly need to distance himself from her, now that she was penniless and a murderer. He’d been kind enough not to mention it to her, though. Not yet, at least. Maybe he was giving her a day, or maybe the news hadn’t reached him yet, but she doubted that, considering they shared a publicist.

  Judith was out of a job, too, but outside of the text she had sent over the weekend, Jessica hadn’t heard from her.

  Then there was the next generation of NAOs, who were suddenly supporting a killer, and everyone who had helped her open the bakery only to see their time and money be thrown away because she hadn’t demanded to see a copy of a freaking contract.

  And in a way, she felt she’d let down God, though obviously that didn’t matter so much.

  She turned on the TV to drown out the buzzing in her head, and the station it was set to was covering none other than the ongoing scandal of Jimmy Dean. How did he get to make so many mistakes, do so many insane and harmful things and still find himself raking in the dough from White Light? And to top it off, he was now an elected official. It wasn’t fair. One tiny mistake of signing a legally binding deal with the devil, and everything she’d ever worked for came crumbling down in a weekend. He’d started a cult, published a memoir full of lies, and who knew what other shady dealings, and he was just fine, smiling at the cameras even as the ticker below flashed phrases like, “Reverend Ruined” and “Possible Indictment Ahead?” And all of his glory built at her expense, built off the back of her birth and expanded around her gospel as told by Jimmy.

  Then a strange idea hit her. If she’d ruined her own reputation, which was pretty obvious, she’d also made herself useless to Jimmy Dean. No doubt he would try to spin it in his favor, but as long as she remained down, he couldn’t even get solid “Antichrist” mileage out of her. She was a nothing. No longer was she an ambitious business owner. If she stepped back, disappeared from the public eye, she’d be taking away Jimmy’s biggest weapon: her.

  IF THE LORD IS NOT MISTAKEN, YOU HAVE TRIED THAT BEFORE.

  But not like this.

  PRETTY MUCH LIKE THIS.

  You’re saying it won’t work?

  YES.

  Then how do I keep Jimmy from using me?

  YOU STOP LETTING HIM.

  A knock on the door made her jump, and she steadied herself, feeling lightheaded as she stood, before going to answer it.

  But she wasn’t a complete idiot, and she looked through the peephole first.

  She pulled opened the door. “Jameson. Aren’t you supposed to be in Vancouver?”

  “I had a couple days off and knew I had to come see you. I heard what happened. I can’t even imagine.”

  His sympathy drained her. “Thanks. For coming to check on me, I mean.”

  He shook his head vaguely, staring at her like she was a puzzle. And then he leaned over in a rush and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pinning hers to her sides. When he let her go and stepped back, they stared at each other a moment. Jessica was the first to cringe, and Jameson piped up with, “Yeah, that didn’t feel right at all.”

  “No. I’m too sad.”

  “I don’t know why I thought this should be romantic.”

  “What movie are you shooting?”

  “I’m starring in Passion’s Last Goodbye. Why do you— Oh. Yeah, that’s probably it.”

  “Come on in.” She stepped to the side and he settled himself on the couch, turning his attention briefly to the news coverage, which had moved on to something far juicer.

  Or at least bloodier. When Jessica saw the still image of her being led into the station with blood covering her front, she couldn’t even muster the energy to be upset. She turned off the TV and pretended she hadn’t noticed the horror on Jameson’s face.

  “What can I do to help?” he asked, tossing his baseball cap onto the coffee table.

  “Nothing.” She sat on the opposite end of the couch and pulled her knees to her chin, facing him. “Well, you can break up with me so your career doesn’t go down the crapper, but more importantly, so Wendy doesn’t go into early retirement.”

  “We don’t have to break up,” he said. “I’m not worried about my reputation.”

  “Don’t be dense. You should be. Your career is your reputation. Listen, if you want, we can go with the story that we broke up before I went to the retreat and this was all a downward spiral caused by my deep sense of loss.”

  He grimaced. “That’s really good.”

  “Don’t be ashamed. It’s all yours if you want it.”

  But he continued to grimace, perhaps from the suggestion, but maybe also from the bloody shirt balled up on the expensive living room rug. “Is there anything else I can do? Hanging you out to dry doesn’t exactly feel like helping.”

  “I think you’ve done enough, Jameson.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean? The condo?”

  It wasn’t hard to figure out who had financed her release. It had to be the same one who’d offered to help her out financially time and time again.

  “No. Or yes, that, too. But I mean the bail money.
” Destinee had informed her that her bond was set at $100,000, which meant whoever had paid bail had shelled out a solid ten grand and was seriously hoping she didn’t skip town. Perhaps that was why he’d come by, to make sure she wasn’t a flight risk.

  But one of his eyebrows levitated up his miraculously wrinkle-free forehead as he torqued his head to the side. “I didn’t pay that, though. Don’t get me wrong, I offered to as soon as I heard, but someone beat me to it.”

  She was confused for only a second before the truth hit her. She shut her eyes against the horror and put her head in her hands. “Oh no. I think I know exactly who did it.”

  “You do?”

  She raised her head just enough to look up at him. “The Devil.”

  “The … Devil?”

  “Yes. Dolores Thomas is Satan. And I bet she paid my bail so I was even more in debt to her.”

  He held up a hand. “Back up. Your former teacher Mrs. Thomas? The one who helped you start your business and got you out of trouble a half-dozen more times—she’s the Devil?”

  “Yep.” She considered mentioning another conclusion she’d come to in the state trooper’s car that involved a bullet and his face, but there was no need to go into that right now.

  “I don’t think you’re in debt to someone if you didn’t ask for help and they helped you anyway.”

  “That’s because you’re not Lucifer. And let me be clear how happy I am that you’re not.”

  “Did you think I was?”

  “I might’ve considered it a few times.”

  “Fair enough.

  “You want a drink?” She nodded to the fridge.

  But he stood. “No, I’d better get going, actually. I have a flight out first thing tomorrow. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Or, not okay because that would be weird, considering, but not, like …”