“And if I don’t pay you back? Is there something in there about that?”
“Yep.” Mrs. Thomas grinned. “Right here.” She pointed to the words midway down the page and read them aloud. “For each month you fail to pay, I’ll receive unlimited baked goods and beverages from your business.”
Jessica laughed. “Fair enough. Where do I sign?”
Mrs. Thomas spun the pad around and pointed to the line at the very bottom of the page. “Oh, but please do read it for yourself before you do. I’d hate to teach you a bad habit by encouraging you to sign a contract you haven’t read for yourself.”
“Good point. Especially if I’m opening a business.”
Mrs. Thomas wagged her finger playfully. “Too true.”
She grinned back at her former teacher before turning her eyes to the legal pad, hardly focusing as she grinned at her luck. This random encounter with Mrs. Thomas was almost too good to be—
Wait a second.
She glanced up at her former principal. “This is going to sound strange, but why did you decide to come here for lunch?”
Mrs. Thomas was clearly taken aback. “You’re right, that does sound strange. I came here because it’s right near the conference, and I’m lazy and like tacos. Not a terribly interesting reason, I’m afraid.”
“There were no, like, weird coincidences that brought you here? Nothing having to do with lottery tickets or … anything else?”
“Are you feeling all right, Jessica?”
“It’s just such a strange coincidence. I guess I’ve become a little suspicious of good timing.” She leaned forward to avoid being overheard. “God keeps trying to trick me into accepting his help, and I won’t. I’m absolutely certain his help comes with a price.”
Mrs. Thomas nodded slowly like she was starting to understand. “Yes, well, that’s why I prefer contracts. Everything comes with a price, so I find it comforting to know exactly what that price is.”
“So, you’re not another one of God’s ploys to help me?”
She chuckled. “I doubt it. I can be a little deaf when it comes to divine signs. Plus, I’d been thinking about this taco salad since before I left Mooretown. Something about the way they cook the beans. I get it every year when I visit.”
Jessica smiled, her suspicions dissolving. “I’ll have to order it next time.” Maybe not every lucky coincidence was God’s doing. After all, Original Mistake was still at play in the world, and though it seemed to function on chaos, even a broken clock is right twice a day.
Jessica grabbed the pen and slid the contract where she could sign it.
“Jessica McCloud,” said a voice right next to her, making her jump. She looked up and there was the blond, staring down at her with a stern look on his face. “May I bother you for a photograph of us?”
“Um, no, actually. I’m sort of busy.”
This is what I get for taking off my sunglasses.
“Just one photograph. I can use my compact communication device for it. It will be quick.” He held up his cell phone.
Jessica exchanged glances with Mrs. Thomas who seemed equally skeezed out.
“Have we met?” Jessica asked. Then it clicked. “Wait. I know you. You came to my food truck a couple times. Yeah. You were stalking Judith, right?” She shook her head. “If you wanted a picture with me, you should have gotten it then. I’m eating right now.”
“Yes. I visited your food wagon before it was set on fire. But that bears no connection to why I am here.”
Mrs. Thomas’s eyes shot open with alarm and she gaped at Jessica. “Someone set your food truck on fire?”
Jessica nodded, the memory weighing her body down into the booth. “Right after this interview I did, someone set it on—Hey, wait!” She sat up straight and glared at the blond. “You were creeping around the week of the fire.” She let the insinuation hang in the air.
Mrs. Thomas’s nostrils flared and she stared daggers at the man. Jessica felt the waves of aggression flow off the woman as she growled, “I think you should keep moving.”
The blond didn’t seem to follow the conversation’s sudden change of direction. “But—”
“Get lost or we call the cops,” Mrs. Thomas insisted more firmly.
With a last pleading glance at Jessica, who offered him no backup, the blond huffed then slowly turned and dragged his heels as he slunk off, grumbling under his breath.
“Thanks,” she said to Mrs. Thomas. “Do you think that he could have been the one who did it?”
Mrs. Thomas shrugged sympathetically. “Who knows. Like I said, Jessica, you have a lot of people who want to see you fail. Which is partly why I’m so proud of you for accepting help from the few who want to see you succeed.” She glanced over her shoulder where the blond had just left the restaurant. “Maybe you should consider hiring bodyguards when you go out in public.”
“Sure. Just as soon as I make my first million.”
She signed on the dotted line and slid it back toward Mrs. Thomas, who took a picture of it with her phone, saying, “I’ll text you this picture so you can keep it on file.” She tucked her phone away again and added, “In the meantime, I believe this is for you.” Beaming, she tore the check from her checkbook and handed it to Jessica. “Congratulations, dear. Your bakery is a go.”
Chapter Nineteen
Colors seemed more vivid than usual as Jessica paused outside Bat-Ass Brew and took in the sights. As of a half hour ago, when Mrs. Thomas had handed over the check, this was officially Jessica’s town. She would settle in, start her business, and become a part of this community, whether the community liked it or not.
She couldn’t remember the last time she was this happy, and while fear and doubt still poked at her, insisting there were details to iron out and a possibility of failure, the annoyance was drastically dulled, at least for the time being. And that was good enough.
Rebel was still working, and he acted surprised to see her for a second time that day. “Hey lady,” he said as she approached the counter. “Couldn’t stay away?”
Not even his creepy comments could get her down, though. “I’ll take a Nutellaluna with rabies, and I’d like to withdraw my job application.”
His cocky grin faded. “Why’s that?”
“Oh, you know, just need an extra pop of energy to get on with my afternoon, and I happened to like hazelnut.”
“No, I mean the application.”
“Obviously you did. It’s just none of your business.”
He nodded pensively. “Okay, yeah. Could I recommend a tea blend instead? We just got it in, and it’s good for cleansing. Your aura seems muddy right now. Probably not good to add caffeine to that.”
It was like he was actively trying to burst her bubble. “Nope. Just the Nutellaluna. And if I could see you tear up the application, that would be gratifying, too. There might even be an extra tip in it for you.” She extended her credit card, which he swiped begrudgingly. Then he reached below the counter, pulled out the application, held it at eye level, and tore it down the middle. He set the halves on the counter. “I’ll get started on your drink right away.”
But he didn’t budge. So she stepped to the side to wait, wondering how long he would drag it out.
As she found a spot against a large bulletin board, the man who’d been waiting behind her in line started to shout. And at first, she commiserated. More than once had she wanted to shout at Rebel for his atrocious customer service.
But then it dawned on her what the man was shouting about.
“I know you did, you son of a bitch!”
She looked over to see the tense exchange unfold.
Rebel hadn’t lost his calm, even as he held up his hands defensively and said something Jessica couldn’t hear.
Suddenly the customer lunged across the counter, grabbing Rebel by the collar of his plaid shirt. “I know you fucked her! She told me! You’re fucking dead!”
Rebel chopped at the customer’s arm, trying
to free himself of the grip until he gave up, bent forward, and wriggled free of his shirt.
But that only aggravated the man further, and Jessica wondered if she was dreaming when the man reached in his waistband and pulled out a gun.
Does everyone in this town own a gun?
Then she remembered what state she was in.
So where the hell are all the other guns?
She looked around at her fellow customers, as those closest to the door sprinted out while the rest froze in horror at the scene unfolding.
No one was doing anything, even as the man shook the pistol at Rebel’s chest and continued to yell himself into a lather.
But I’m not doing anything either.
She felt the wrath gather in her chest. Good. Very good. This was something she could do. She could stop this and save Rebel’s life. But as blood rushed to her face, she became keenly aware she was about to cross a big fat line. Her arms pulsed with the energy, and her fingers started to tingle.
“I didn’t do it!” Rebel shouted. “I don’t even know an Amber!”
The man with the gun hesitated then took a step back. But then, “I never said what her name was, you dumb fuck!”
No, she couldn’t. Rebel didn’t deserve to die, but she also wasn’t ready to dole out ultimate punishment to another human. (And maybe she empathized with his feelings toward Rebel a little.)
Whatever the reason, she took a different approach, running straight for the man, and shouting, “Drop your—”
She didn’t get to finish, though, as the man whirled around, his gun extended at arm’s length. She’d hardly made it a step before cramps in both her hamstrings took her legs out from under her, causing her to crumple to the ground in a heap. A gunshot echoed through the restaurant a moment before she hit the old wood floors of the coffee shop. When she looked up, she saw the man staring wide-eyed at her, terrified.
Then quickly he turned and fired off five more rounds.
“Stop!” she screamed, trying to scramble to her feet, but Rebel was already shot multiple times through the chest and head, his limp body crashing into the flavored syrup caddy on the back counter. The gunman sprinted from the coffee shop.
Her vision tunneled and she scrambled to her feet and ran around the counter to find Rebel on the ground. Blood pooled underneath him, and a bullet through the nose presented a gory sight.
“Oh … God. Oh god oh god.” She squatted near him but couldn’t bring herself to touch him just yet. There was no hurry, really. She grimaced, made a few awkward noises, then peeked her head above the counter to see if anyone else was still around.
Sure enough, those who hadn’t initially fled the scene were still there, though a few girls were now sobbing into the bony chests of their boyfriends.
She squatted down next to Rebel and came up with a quick plan of action. Grabbing four napkins off the counter, she sopped up the blood along his neck before placing her fingers on his pulse.
Except there was no pulse.
Thank whoever! He’s dead.
This she could work with.
She glanced up at the counter to see two men and a woman—or were they boys and a girl?—leaning over it with their cell phones aimed at her. “Are you seriously filming this?”
They didn’t respond but kept their phones steady. The girl then turned hers around to face her said, “Oh my god, I think he’s dead,” before turning the phone back around
Ooo … I could just—
THOU SHALT NOT SMITE.
I knew you were here! Thanks for the muscle cramps, asshole! I could’ve stopped this before it escalated.
THE LORD FINDS IT CUTE HOW YOU THINK THAT.
Don’t patronize me right now.
THEN STOP SAYING STUPID THINGS. WHAT IN YOUR LIFE HAS PREPARED YOU TO TAKE ON A GUNMAN?
Adrenaline?
YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN SO VERY SHOT. WASN’T EVEN CLOSE.
You’re telling me not to smite, yet you antagonize. Always with the antagonizing.
FINE. YOU WANT HELP?
The cell phones exploded in the hands of the amateur filmmakers, who yelped and ran out of the coffee shop.
Oh wow. God had actually made Himself useful. What a pleasant surprise amidst the Greatest Shitshow on Earth. The last thing she needed was to have a video of her kneeling by a dead body that would walk and talk (too much) later on.
BAD NEWS. THEY WERE STREAMING LIVE.
Shitballs!
She would never hear the end of this from Cash. But she’d deal with that later. One thing at a time.
She needed to focus. It’d been years since the last time she’d done what she now had to do, and she didn’t want to botch it.
Hovering her hands over Rebel’s body—one above his bloody chest, one above his smashed in face—Jessica tried hard not to think of the bullet-riddled Zeta writhing around in the driveway of her childhood home or his agonizing screams as she brought his already decaying body back to life.
Rebel was freshly dead. No doubt he would have a raging headache and be low iron at first, but his body hadn’t started rotting.
Why are these things I have to think about in my life? I hate you so much, Dad.
DID YOU JUST CALL ME DAD?
I’m in distress! Leave me alone!
She closed her eyes and lowered her hands, cringing against the squelching and the warm liquid that bubbled out of him when she made contact.
She’d never almost smote and performed a miracle in as close a time frame before, and because of that, she’d never realized how different the two experiences felt. Sure, they both started in her chest like an energy building, like water flowing into a hole in the earth until enough had gathered and it could burst forth as a heavenly geyser, flowing out through her arms, shooting from her hands, remnants trickling down the nerves in her legs. But it was the temperature of the water that felt different. Smiting was boiling liquid through her veins, while her miracles felt like a refreshing spring. It reminded her of the only beach trip she’d ever taken, back when she still lived with her mother in Mooretown … The sun was brutal, reflecting off the sand and water, and she could feel herself getting burned, regardless of the sunscreen Destinee compulsively lathered on her each time she was within arm’s reach. But there was a shower head sticking out of the sand to rinse off with, and though it had taken some convincing for Jess to jump under the cold spray, once she did, the refreshment and sense of relief, of refuge from the heat made her never want to leave. And once she was out, all she’d wanted to do was get painfully overheated again so she had another excuse to experience that immense relief.
Miracles ran through her body like that beach shower had run over her skin, both making her shiver pleasantly.
The power tugged free, and a moment later Rebel’s limbs began twitching. He seemed to be unconscious though, so she’d count it a win.
She hurried back and stood, watching him closely, waiting until one of the bullets in his ribs popped free of his skin. She glanced around and was perturbed that there were still people sitting around doing nothing. “Raise your hand if you’ve called the cops.” It was more for her own validation that these were garbage people than any useful intel.
Nobody raised a hand. “Going once, going twice? Nobody?”
As people began exchanging judgmental glances with their friends, she yelled, “Then somebody call the cops! Hell, everybody call the cops! They have more than one phone line.”
Turning her attention back toward Rebel’s flopping body, she caught sight of the expelled bullet on the floor. This was going to be a tough one to explain, especially if the witnesses were as unhelpful with the cops as they were with Rebel …
Jessica was mostly ignored when the first cops arrived. They entered the scene, guns drawn but pointed at the ground until they were sure the threat was over.
“Officer Jones?” Jess said as the fog started to clear from her brain.
“Ms. McCloud.” He nodded but that was all t
he acknowledgment she received until the entire cafe had been cleared of everyone, including herself. Backup arrived shortly after she walked out into the bright afternoon sunlight, and while she waited for someone, anyone, to come speak with her, she entertained herself by watching pedestrians on the sidewalk rubberneck as they passed the scene.
Finally Jones 3624 approached, nodding to her and clasping his hands in front of his sternum. “Ms. McCloud. The other witnesses tell me you’re the one to talk to.”
“Yep.” Here was the moment she’d been dreading, but she knew what she had to do.
“Would you walk me through what happened?”
“I submitted a job application earlier in the day, then changed my mind and came back to withdraw my application and get a Nutellaluna with rabies—which I never got, come to think of it—doesn’t matter. A man walked in, accused Rebel of stealing his wife or something. Maybe just sleeping with her, and then he pulled out a gun. I tried to stop him, but, um, I got a leg cramp and fell. He shot at me, but missed, and I dunno, I guess that freaked him out, because he turned around and fired off five or six shots at Rebel.”
Jones 3624 nodded empathetically. At least he didn’t openly doubt her story. Yet. “Then what happened?”
She took a deep breath. “Then Rebel went to the ground and the shooter ran out, and I went over to check on Rebel.”
“And?”
She paused, gritted her teeth, and continued. “And he was shot a few times through the chest and once or twice through the head.” She pointed at her nose and made a poor attempt at a gunshot noise. “He was dead.”
Jones 3624 leaned forward, his eyes locking onto Jessica’s. “You’re telling me the victim was shot multiple times and was dead, just so we’re clear?”
“Yep.” She smiled apologetically.
“When you say Rebel, are you referring to Grover Hofflefrot?”
“Um. Who?”
“Grover Hofflefrot.”
“No, I heard you, I just have no idea.”
It is Risen Page 23
