Her tone must have accurately conveyed the direness of the situation because Quentin and Miranda didn’t take another step forward before they returned to the back seat.
Jess scanned the scrub brush. A National Geographic on nocturnal animals surfaced in her mind. Humans weren’t currently nocturnal, but the presence of so many rods in the human eye indicated that they once were. She wished (not for the first time, oddly) that she could have margay eyes with their acute night vision, but she settled for using the trick she’d learned from that particular episode and focused her attention on her peripheral vision, hoping it would allow her to catch some sign of movement that her eyes’ cones would miss.
Nothing.
The driver could have been ejected at any point in the flip and in any direction, Jessica realized, so she might as well get started searching. But somehow it only took a dozen intuitive steps before she found the driver, who was facedown, one arm stretched out to the side, the other bent at a horrifying angle and draped over the back of the person’s head.
“Shit, it’s a woman,” Chris said, and Jess wasn’t sure why that mattered.
“Or a man in a dress,” she said.
“Huh?”
She grimaced and waved him off. “I don’t know. I’m just saying.”
“Hey you!” Chris shouted at the woman or man in a dress. “You dead?”
Jess smacked his arm and hissed, “You don’t ask someone if they’re dead.”
“What?”
“It’s … impolite.”
Chris nodded as if he understood and recovered with, “I mean, you alive?”
There was still no response.
“Maybe she’s just unconscious,” Jessica suggested as she took another hesitant step forward.
“Or he,” Chris corrected, keeping his distance.
“Right.”
Jessica kneeled next to the body then, with pincher fingers, grabbed the wrist of the twisted arm and removed it from the back of the head, placing it in a position that almost looked the way an arm might lie if someone had simply fallen asleep on their stomach. Then she rolled the body onto its side to get a better look and see if she could detect signs of life.
The blood covering the woman’s face seeping from the row of lacerations along her forehead almost prevented Jessica from recognizing who it was. But then suddenly it clicked into place.
It was no man in a dress.
It was Mrs. Wurst.
She dropped the body, and it rolled back onto its face. “Shitballs.” She jumped up.
“Was that …” Chris whispered. She glanced back at him, and he was hugging himself tightly and covering his mouth like he might puke.
“We killed Mrs. Wurst,” she said. “We killed Mrs. Wurst.”
“No! Take her pulse! Maybe she’s alive!”
There was nothing Jessica wanted to do less at that moment than touch the presumed corpse of this woman who had, yet again, proven herself to be a thorn in Jessica’s crown.
But she needed to be sure. So she reached down and placed two fingers on the woman’s neck, like she’d been taught to do for her CPR certification in health class the previous year.
Where was the pulse? Maybe she got the wrong spot. She tried another place, closer to the jawline. “Am I … do I have the right place?”
“Maybe more to the side,” Chris coached, but clearly he had less of an idea than she did.
“Nothing,” she said, leaning back onto her heels.
“Check for breathing,” Chris suggested.
“How do I do that?”
“Hold a mirror right in front of her mouth.”
“A mirror?”
He nodded adamantly. “Yeah, like a hand mirror.”
So Chris was no help. “Do you have a goddamn hand mirror?!”
“No. I’m sorry! I don’t know what to do!”
The blood was starting to dry on Mrs. Wurst’s face, and Jessica’s mind raced through scenarios where she and Chris could get off scot-free for this.
Maybe Mrs. Wurst was just on her way home from strangling babies.
Or maybe Mrs. Wurst was in a lot of pain and we simply dealt her a merciful death.
No, neither of those would exonerate them. They were screwed.
Chris ran his fingers compulsively through his hair as he began pacing back and forth. “My career is over …”
“It wasn’t your fault. She ran the stop sign.”
“That doesn’t matter. I’ve been drinking.”
Jessica didn’t take her eyes off Mrs. Wurst. Maybe there was a sign of life she was missing. “Should we call the cops?”
“Oh,” Chris yelled, melodramatically, “you mean her husband? Yeah, he’s gonna love this. We’re so screwed, Jess. He’s gonna put our heads on stakes.”
She wished he’d shut up for just a second.
CPR. She’d have to try it. It was the last resort.
She rolled Ruth Wurst over onto her back, cringing at the crunching of bones in the misshapen arm as the weight of her body rolled over it.
How did CPR work again? Chest compressions, right.
She steadied herself, rested one hand over the other, and then lowered them down toward Mrs. Wurst’s heart, thinking, Please let this work, over and over again.
And the moment her palm made contact with Mrs. Wurst’s chest, Jessica felt a familiar force move through her, one that she’d come to associate with football and smiting. It was like a weak magnet pulsed through her torso, down her arms, and the pull of it moved out through her sweaty palms, tugging lose.
And then suddenly the dead body in front of her lurched and began gasping for air. Jessica yanked her hands away to hover over Mrs. Wurst without touching her.
What in God’s name …
IT’S A MIRACLE.
No. Please no.
ISN’T THIS WHAT YOU WANTED?
I mean, partly yes, partly no.
YEAH, I GET THAT.
Mrs. Wurst’s eyes shot open and found Jessica’s face immediately.
Only just managing to regain control of her bladder before an already terrible situation was made even worse, Jessica froze in place, unsure what her next move should be.
But luckily she was spared the decision, because just as Ruth murmured, “Jessica?” she felt Chris’s hands slip underneath her armpits and lift her back up onto her feet.
“We gotta get the hell out of here,” he said, and Jess was inclined to agree. She scrambled after Chris up the incline, back onto the road, and toward the remaining headlight, not looking back once, not even when Ruth Wurst’s voice hollered her name a second, third, and forth time.
As she jumped back into the cab, Quentin began demanding answers. “Call 9-1-1,” was all she said to him. “Report a rollover accident and then hang up. Don’t give them your name. And try to sound less drunk.”
Quentin nodded and did as he was told.
“Fuck,” Chris said, straining to turn the steering wheel. “Power steering is out.”
“Then use those goddamn muscles, Chris,” Jessica yelled, “and get us the hell out of here.”
She tried to avoid looking at the wreckage of the Wurst car on the side of the road as they pulled away. Even as they began to put distance between themselves and the wreck, the acrid smell of burnt rubber and the suffocating mugginess of exhaust seemed ever present, clouding her panicked thoughts until two truths finally broke through the fog and left her no less frantic than before. Firstly, she had finally discovered another miracle, but seeming more pertinent: she’d just been a part of a deadly a hit and run.
After a moment’s consideration of her life so far, she decided that these two things being linked was about par for the course.
* * *
She knew she shouldn’t have this raw craving, considering the events of the night so far, but as Chris’s truck idled in the McCloud driveway, Jessica needed nothing more than to feel his hands on her. She pulled him close and he seemed to want the same.
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He did away with her shirt quickly, and as she looked down at herself, though she couldn’t actually remember putting on a black bra (or even owning one), she was glad she had. Chris seemed happy with it, too, and he dove forward, their lips crashing only a moment before he grabbed a handful of her breast.
It was probably a strange time for her to lose her virginity, but it felt like a great time. The best time, even.
But as absorbed with Chris Riley as she was—the roughness of his fingertips, the softness of his lips, the woodsy smell of him—she also became aware that his broken headlight was now back on. That was good, she supposed. She tried to forget about it, but it nagged at her, and her mind kept returning to the solution it hinted at, even as Chris reached around her back and unclasped her sexy black bra in one deft snap of his fingers.
Then a figure passed in front of the beam of the magically repaired headlight, then across the beam of the light on the passenger’s side, and she immediately recognized that the figure and the repaired headlight were related.
Well, since it was a dream, she might as well make the most of it.
A moment later, when she heard a tap at the window, she swatted Chris’s hands away from her belt and then re-clasped her bra and slipped her shirt back on before rolling down the window to say hello to her half-brother.
“What do you want?”
“Is that any way to talk to family?”
She heard Chris mumble a confused, “Jesus?” and she nodded but otherwise ignored him.
“I found another miracle. La-di-da.”
Jesus narrowed his eyes at her. “I sense you’re being disingenuous with your enthusiasm.”
“Yep.”
“Well, you should be happy.”
“And why’s that? We’re now wanted in a hit and run.”
He blew a short raspberry and waved off her concern. “Minor details. God’s plan has you covered, I’m sure.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Really? You’re sure about that?”
He paused with his mouth open for a second, one eye twitched, and then his confidence returned. “Yes. Besides, raising people from the dead was one of my favorite miracles.”
“Wait, you could do it, too?”
Jesus sighed impatiently. “You know, I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned this to you before.”
“Then clearly I wasn’t paying attention. Maybe someday we could have a conversation when I’m not horny and preoccupied and then I’d listen to you.”
Jesus shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The point,” he said once he finally looked up again, “is that resurrecting people is a good miracle to have.”
“I’d argue it depends on who you resurrect.”
He seemed to consider it. “Okay, I can see where you’re coming from.”
“Did you ever resurrect any real asswipes?"
“Oh yeah. I just kept those off the record. I actually tried to keep them all off the record, but John pulled a fast one with Lazarus long after I was dead, and it’d already been published before I could pay him a little visit.”
Jessica struggled to follow along; what she really wanted was to forget this whole conversation and go back to the part where Chris undid her bra. “Wait. Who is Lazarus?”
“You— How have you not heard of Lazarus?”
“Is that a Bible thing?”
Jesus appraised her dubiously. “Yeah, it’s a Bible thing.”
“See? There it is. I’ve never read the Bible. Dad told me to wait for the second edition. There’s stuff He needs to fix first.”
Jesus stroked his beard. “I see. What sort of stuff will He change?”
“Mostly stuff about menstruation, I think.”
The mention of it caused Jesus to gasp and then choke slightly. He pounded at his chest until he was able to regain his composure.
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re uncomfortable with it, too.”
Jesus angled his head toward her meaningfully. “Well, it is unclean.”
“No, not anymore. God changed that.”
“He what?”
“He changed that. It’s clean now. Well, I mean, it’s still messy, but it’s not unclean.”
Jesus shut his eyes tightly to reset. “Sheesh, I keep telling Him to keep me updated when He changes His mind, but you know how He can be.”
She knew. “Terrible communicator. Doesn’t work well on a team.”
“Exactly!” Jesus yelled excitedly. “Oh mankind, it’s so nice having someone else who gets it.”
From behind her, Chris blurted, “Thank you.”
She turned to him. “Huh? For what?”
But Chris was looking past her. “Not you, Him. Thank you for dying for our sins.”
“You’re welcome,” Jesus said humbly.
Jessica turned back toward her half-brother. “Why are you here anyway?”
“Oh, just wanted to say good luck. Like I said, raising the dead was my favorite miracle, but you need to use discretion. I made the mistake of being a bit showy with Lazarus, and it didn’t work out well for me. Granted, it saved the souls of all mankind, but, well, you know. Those Romans had to go all out with the torture thing. A bunch of meanies when you get right down to it.”
Jessica wasn’t in the mood to think about her ultimate fate. All she really wanted was to get laid. “You’re kind of a downer. Can you leave?”
“Yep.” He poofed, vanishing into a cloud of white, semi-fluorescent smoke that swirled where he had once stood.
She turned back to Chris. “Where were we?”
But he no longer seemed in the mood.
Dammit! This is my dream! Get in the mood!
She tried to make it happen, but he wasn’t complying. Instead, he said, “Do you hear that?”
She heard nothing. “Nope.”
“Listen, it’s like a jackhammer or something.”
This was getting ridiculous. She pulled off her shirt to see if she could draw him in. But he simply closed his eyes. “No, I can still hear it. How do you not hear it?”
Well, it was her dream, so she could do what she wanted. “Shut up about it.” She climbed on top of him, despite his distracted attempts to push her away. She straddled him in the tight space between the driver’s seat and the steering wheel and leaned down to kiss him before he poofed right out of existence too. “What the hell?”
Worst sex dream ever.
Part of her expected the dream to end, for her to wake up, but it didn’t. “What am I supposed to do now?” She started by putting her shirt back on, and then she waited patiently in the cab for the dream to disappear or for something to happen.
It felt like hours in her dream world before she awoke to the darkness of her room. There was a knock on her window and she sat up in bed and looked over to find Chris’s face pressed up against the glass.
He looked panicked. Well, no surprise there.
She crawled out from under the sheets and slid open her window. “What’s up?”
“I can’t sleep. I’m so screwed, Jess.” He sounded like he was going to cry. She hoped to her Father he wouldn’t cry in front of her.
“Just … Here,” she said. “Go to the front door. You can come in.”
He shook his head adamantly. “I don’t want to piss off your mom.”
Part of Jessica’s mind was still stuck in the cab of Chris’s dream truck, and she struggled to focus her attention on the task at hand. “Please, she’d be proud if I snuck you in. Meet you at the front door.”
By the time she was able to slip on a bra under the loose T-shirt she’d worn to bed and amble to the front door, Chris was already there, waiting, bouncing anxiously on his toes. She could tell that his hands, which were shoved into his shorts pockets, were balled into nervous fists.
Maybe she should be as anxious as he was, but she was too tired. Sleep hadn’t come easily. In the hour between when she’d laid down in bed and actually fallen asleep, her thoughts had
become a hellish smoothie with a base of adrenaline, one part Chris’s future, two parts her own future, and seventeen parts mental images of Mrs. Wurst’s mangled body and the look in her eyes when they finally opened and stared up at Jessica.
“You want some water?” she asked, as he stepped inside.
“Water?” He seemed to have difficulty registering the word.
“Yeah. Are you thirsty?”
“Uh, I guess so.”
She headed into the kitchen and he followed.
Once she’d convinced him to sit in a chair at the table, she passed him his glass, which he promptly ignored. “What are we gonna do?”
“We have a plan, Chris. We just need to stick to it.” But as her mind became more alert, the doubt and panic crawled back in. “It’s not like we killed anyone.”
His jaw dropped and his head leaned toward her. “No, Jess, that’s exactly what we did.”
“Well, I mean, sure. But I brought her back.”
Chris nearly jumped into the ceiling when the hall light flicked on behind him.
“Is that Chris I hear?” Destinee was up.
Chris’s eyes opened wide, and he looked at Jessica for a cue. She shrugged slightly. “Yeah, Mom. It’s Chris.”
At least her mother had done them the favor of wrapping herself up modestly in a fuzzy robe before coming out to see what all the commotion was. Small victories.
Her mascara had smudged from sleep, creating dark circles beneath her squinty eyes as she entered into the kitchen and went straight to making herself a glass of ice water. She leaned against the counter and glanced at the clock, which Jess hadn’t even thought of doing yet. “Already five thirty. Y’all just get home?”
Chris was smart enough to stay silent and let Jessica take the lead with her mother. “No. I got home a while ago.”
Destinee pressed her lips together and nodded, like she understood, but the creases that appeared on her forehead made it clear she did not. “So, y’all just been talking, or … ?” As she glanced from one face to the other, she started to clue in. “What happened?”
Jessica’s gut told her to come clean. The situation was already messy enough, and lying would only make it more complicated, especially since Jess wasn’t feeling particularly creative in her hazy mental state. Besides, Destinee would likely be happy to hear that Jessica had discovered another miracle.
It's a Miracle! Page 3
