It's a Miracle!

by H. Claire Taylor

  “Sumus omnes porcos, sed Deus est Aper. Thank you and have a blessed evening. No questions.” He placed his hand on the small of Mrs. Wurst’s back and led her toward the edge of the stage. Chief Wurst trailed a few steps behind, still scowling.

  And it was done.

  Jessica looked over toward her mother, whose mouth dangled open, mashed popcorn visible between her parted lips. Jess hadn’t even touched the popcorn yet, and the bowl was almost empty from her mother’s nervous eating.

  The coverage switched back to the studio, where Chip O’Donnell and Patricia Carrera sat at the anchor desk, seemingly unsure of what to say. Chip swallowed hard, straightened the papers in front of him, then aimed his clear blue eyes at the camera, and plastered on his well-rehearsed smile. “Well that was certainly an interesting development. A miracle in Mooretown.”

  “Another miracle in Mooretown,” Patricia added.

  “That’s certainly what some might say,” Chip replied, nodding.

  Destinee turned off the TV. “I can’t stand their stupid banter. Couple of shit-for-brains idiots.”

  Jessica suspected her mother didn’t always feel so strongly about the news anchors. “So what—” She’d intended to ask, “So what now?” but before she could, her phone vibrated next to her and she knew on instinct who it would be. She didn’t bother checking for confirmation before she answered.

  “I’m fucked, Jess. My future. It’s fucked.”

  She inhaled deeply. “Relax, Chris. We’ll get through this.” But she was also feeling the fuckedness. Would God let her rot away in a prison cell? Would He let her be sodomized, whatever that meant? It certainly didn’t sound good. Was it a medical procedure? For some reason she thought it was a medical procedure, but she couldn’t figure out why they would do that in jail.

  “Easy for you to say! You’re God’s daughter! He wouldn’t hang you up to dry. But me? I’m a nobody. He probably doesn’t even know my name!”

  “Slow down. You’re talking crazy. Of course God knows your name. I— I don’t know if that’s important or not. But listen, we’ll figure out something. Just stay where you are. I’ll let you know when I have a plan, okay?”

  “What if the cops show up at my door?” He started to wheeze. “I just want to play college ball, Jess,” he whined. “That’s all I want to do.”

  “I know,” she soothed, trying not to roll her eyes. She glanced at Destinee who was staring avidly at her, trying to decipher the conversation. Jessica mouthed “Chris” and Destinee nodded and shoved more popcorn into her mouth. “Would you just do me a favor and check in with Quentin and Miranda? Tell them not to move a muscle until I say. I’ll take care of this.”

  Chris agreed to that but only sounded mildly soothed. Before she hung up, she added, “Maybe try not to sound so terrified when you talk to them.”

  He agreed to that, too, and she hung up the phone.

  YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO.

  I don’t actually.

  “You got a plan, baby?” Destinee asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “This sounds like something for your Father to handle.”

  “No shit.” Jess turned her focus back to Him.

  What should I do here?

  YOU NEED TO SHUT DOWN JIMMY’S NONSENSE. IT WILL ONLY GET WORSE.

  And how do I do that?

  THE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW WHO ACTUALLY FOUND RUTH.

  But then the world would also know who killed her. I can’t do that to Chris.

  THEN DON’T MENTION HIM.

  Are you telling me to lie?

  NOPE. JUST OMIT. I DO IT ALL THE TIME.

  And it’s infinitely annoying. But okay. I get what you’re saying.

  She turned to her mother. “I need a ride down to the station.”

  “The fuck you say?” Destinee addressed the ceiling next. “That’s the best You could come up with? Having our daughter turn herself in?” She shook her head. “So much for that. I got a better idea, baby. Don’t turn yourself in.”

  “Mom, this is what I have to do. God’s not going to let me rot in jail. Chris’s future, Miranda’s, Quentin’s … I can spare the three of them by taking responsibility.”

  Destinee’s face squished up like she’d tasted something sour. “This reeks of martyrdom to me. I don’t like it one bit.” She sighed. “But if you’re sure this is what you should do, I’ll drive you there.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay then. Let me put on some pants.”

  “I have important information regarding Ruth Wurst’s hit and run.”

  The clerk peered skeptically over the high desk at Jessica, pressing her lips into a tight line. “Why should I believe you when I didn’t believe the first hundred people who told me that in the past hour?”

  “What?”

  The clerk motioned to the waiting room behind Jessica’s back, which she’d snaked through only moments before. All the seats were filled and those who weren’t lucky enough to secure a chair were packed together, shoulder to shoulder. While Jessica had wondered why so many people would be waiting at a police station, she hadn’t been in a state of mind where she was able to put two and two together.

  “I guess I don’t know why you should believe me. I’m telling the truth?”

  The clerk narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Aren’t you the Antichrist girl? You look livelier on TV. Not very threatening at all.”

  “No, I’m not the … can I please just speak with Chief Wurst?” She’d never imagined confessing to a crime would be this tedious and involve so much persistence.

  “Of course you can,” the woman replied. “Just gotta wait your turn. Sign in and I’ll call you when it’s time.” She slid a clipboard and pen toward Jessica. A few of the names at the top of the first page had been crossed off, but Jessica had to flip past two more pages before she found an empty line. She sighed but wrote her name and phone number, then headed over to the waiting area to stand as close to a corner as she could.

  Once Destinee had found parking in the overcrowded lot, she passed through the automatic glass doors, head swiveling around until her eyes locked onto Jessica’s. Then she nodded and made her way through the crowd of people, many of whom stared shamelessly at Jessica but were polite enough not to shout anything horrible.

  “You do it?” Destinee whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “She doesn’t believe me.”

  Destinee’s eyes flew open. “She doesn’t believe you?”

  Jessica was able to grab her mother’s arm and hold her in place before the woman could get two steps toward the clerk’s desk. “This probably isn’t the best place to cause a scene,” Jess hissed.

  Her mother narrowed her eyes, but then relaxed and nodded. “Good call. I guess we’ll just have to wait.”

  Gary Higgins sauntered out of a back office, his dark shoulder-length hair greasy as always, with Chief Wurst following a few steps behind him. The chief’s upper lip curled slightly, and Jessica recognized that expression because it was the one she wore every time she spoke with Gary or accidentally caught sight of a new busty cat lady he’d drawn.

  Gary strutted out of the station like he had just done something heroic, and as he passed her, he nodded. “Hey, Jess. You can go home. I just solved the case.”

  His voice sent a shudder down her spine, and she didn’t bother responding.

  Chief Wurst sighed and flipped casually through the list. He had a long night ahead of him for sure, but that didn’t necessarily elicit sympathy from Jess, as she had a long night of waiting ahead of her, and even once she was done waiting, there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Although considering what she now knew with regards to the light Mrs. Wurst had seen at the end of the tunnel, maybe that wasn’t so bad.

  The chief stopped skimming over the pages suddenly, and he glanced up until his gaze fell on Jessica. “Ms. McCloud. Follow me.”

  A few dozen folks who’d been waiting since befo
re Jess arrived grumbled at her preferential treatment, but they didn’t warrant any of her sympathy either, considering not a single one had any valuable information on the crime, since none of them had actually been there.

  Jessica cut her way through the waiting room crowd and followed Chief Wurst past a row of desks toward the back offices of the station, Destinee lagging only a few steps behind.

  For some reason, Jessica had imagined that she would confess inside an interrogation room, but instead he led them to his personal office, closing the door and motioning for them to have a seat on the opposite side of the solid wood desk from himself. It made sense, she supposed. Sure, she’d told the clerk she was there to confess, but the woman didn’t exactly believe her and therefore seemed unlikely to pass along the message to the chief.

  And now that she was here, with the Mooretown Chief of Police staring at her from only feet away, she wondered for the first time how one started a proper confession. Perhaps style didn’t so much matter in this situation.

  But before she could speak, Chief Wurst took the lead. “I had a hunch you might pop up in this,” he said. He wore a similarly displeased expression to the one he sported at the press conference.

  He nodded at Destinee. “Mrs. McCloud.”

  “Chief Wurst,” she said stiffly. Clearly she wasn’t sure of the decorum of a confession either. That was oddly comforting, mostly because it meant that maybe Destinee had never found herself in a similar position of guilt before. Though more likely it was because Destinee would never in a million years willingly confess anything to the cops.

  “What do you have for me, Jessica?” he asked, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Did you see the collision? Did you cause the collision? Or did you … you know.” He couldn’t say it.

  “Resurrect your wife?” She did her best to tamp down her satisfaction at the discomfort the word resurrect seemed to cause him.

  “So what is it?” he said curtly. “Don’t tell me I let you skip the line just so you can waste my time with made-up heroics or drawings of biped cats with massive tits.”

  “No, I’m here to confess.”

  “To?”

  It was now or never. “I was driving the truck. But I didn’t run the stop sign. Your wife did. She didn’t even have her headlights on. She came flying through and clipped the truck and then rolled over into the ditch.” She tried to read his expression, but it didn’t change, so she continued. “I ran up to her and she was … dead. And I rolled her over and tried CPR, but as soon as I placed my hand on her chest, she came back to life.”

  He heaved a deep breath and let it out in a large whoosh as he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his desk and his chin on his fists. “So Jimmy Dean wasn’t there.”

  “No.” Then she remembered who she was talking to and added, “Sir.”

  “Would you swear it under oath if you had to? That Jimmy Dean wasn’t the one who’d performed the miracle?”

  “The … wait. What?” His reaction was not matching her expectations. “I was driving Chris’s truck. He was asleep and didn’t know what happened. I think he was knocked out. He didn’t know anything, I told him we’d hit a hog.”

  He waved her off. “Cut the crap. I don’t give a damn about it anyway.” He turned toward Destinee, who was strangely silent. “You know about this?”

  Destinee raised her jaw, her lips pouting slightly. For a moment it looked like she wouldn’t respond, then she spat, “I ain’t no snitch.”

  “Jesus, woman.” He turned back to Jessica. “If I helped you write out a confession to all this, would you sign it?”

  She was just about to say, “Yes, that’s the whole reason why I’m here,” but he interrupted before she could. “I mean, of course I would guarantee not to press charges on the hit and run, that’s a given. Would you sign it then?”

  Again, she was about to say yes before he tacked on, “And obviously Chris wouldn’t be facing any charges. And neither would whoever the hell else was in the truck with you on the way back from that sin party over at Brookses’ ranch.”

  Finally, Jessica was allowed to reply. “Yes.” But then, “Why would you offer me that?”

  “Good question, baby,” Destinee added. “Smart.”

  Chief Wurst nodded. “It’s not without a cost. I need something from you.”

  Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good.

  NO, IT’S GREAT. JUST LISTEN. IT’S HILARIOUS.

  She ignored God. “And what is that?”

  “I need you to hold a press conference.”

  Jessica groaned. More media attention? “And do what in that conference?”

  “In that conference, you will confess to having brought back my wife from the dead.”

  Then it started to make sense. “Wait, you believe that I did that?”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if I do or don’t believe you. What matters is that I don’t believe that piece-of-shit false prophet, Jimmy Dean.”

  “Hot damn,” Destinee breathed.

  IT GETS BETTER. SERIOUSLY.

  “I thought you went to his church,” Jessica prodded. “But you don’t believe him?”

  The chief sucked on his lips, making thoughtful smacking sounds, then he came out with it. “Not since I found out he was lying my wife.”

  “Lying …” And then it clicked. “You found out about that?!” Jessica yelped.

  “Yes. Wait. Did you know?” he demanded.

  “Well, yeah.”

  “How?!”

  “God told me.”

  He growled, but didn’t say anything disparaging, so Jess would take it.

  “Regardless, I trusted him with my family’s faith, and it turns out he’s no better than the sinners he detests.”

  You’re right. This is great.

  She shrugged. “You know what they say. Sumus omnes porcos …”

  OHHH SNAP!

  No one says that anymore.

  SO SAYETH THE LORD.

  The chief’s face turned plum, but it was clear he needed her too much to say what was on his mind.

  Perhaps due to a perverse curiosity about how far she could push him, she added, “It takes a big man to admit he’s wrong.”

  The Chief’s left eyelid twitched almost imperceptibly.

  “How’d you find out?” Jessica added.

  Chief Wurst swallowed down his rage, then added, “She told me.”

  “Damn,” Destinee said, her tone hinting the slightest bit at sympathy. “That’s cold.”

  “Yes,” he said, sitting up straight. “It was cold. She thought I wouldn’t mind because I’d be glad she was alive and had experienced a miracle. But that was … not the case.”

  Clearly. “Okay,” Jess said, trying not to get too caught up in the unexpected turn this confession had taken. “So if I agree to sign a confession about my miracle and then give a press conference where I tell the world it was actually me who performed the miracle, you’ll drop all charges on anyone involved in this accident, even those who you may or may not find out about at a later time?”

  He nodded. “That’s it.”

  “And then if I don’t agree to your deal … ?”

  “I’ll arrest you, Chris, and eventually figure out who else was in the truck—your friend Miranda, I suspect, and then the anonymous report of Ruth’s location was traced back to a Darius Jones, who I believe has a son around your age—and I’ll make sure they face charges for leaving the scene of the crime as well.”

  It wasn’t much of a decision, then. “Okay, Chief. You have yourself a deal.”

  Her mother’s earlier suspicion was correct, then. She owed Maria Flores a call.

  “You ready?” Chris asked. He’d been noticeably cowed since Jessica had called him and filled him in about her confession. Even though it hadn’t turned out terribly for her, he still seemed embarrassed that she’d done it for him.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be. I mean, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve spoken to the med
ia.”

  He paused, staring at her meaningfully, as if trying to read her. “Right. But it doesn’t always work out well.”

  Her temper flared suddenly, causing her wonder if it was about to storm above the Mooremont High School parking lot where they’d set the stage for the press conference. “Are you trying to freak me out?”

  Chris held his hands up in surrender and took a step back. “Sorry. I guess I’m just nervous. I don’t particularly trust Mr. Wurst.”

  “Of course you don’t. I don’t either.”

  “It just seems kind of shitty that he would go to all this trouble to get back at his wife when he constantly cheats on her.”

  Jessica nodded. “Yeah, welcome to double standards, Chris.” Where was her attitude coming from? She wasn’t mad at Chris, and it was in her best interest to keep as many allies as she could.

  She peeked out from behind his newly repaired truck, where they’d hidden themselves from the cameras until it was go time.

  And it was almost go time. Chief Wurst approached the podium with the Mooretown Police Department shield emblazoned on the front. Mooretown was a quiet place on the whole, yet the chief held himself in front of the cameras like he’d done this a million times, like he was about to announce hit-and-miracle-and-run number twenty-three for the year.

  Jessica hoped she could have at least a tiny percentage of the confidence he exuded. She turned back to Chris. “Let’s do this.”

  “Are you mad at me?” Ugh. Why did he think that?

  Oh right, the snapping. “No, I’m not.” She took a step forward and kissed him quickly before heading out toward the horde, where the Chief had begun briefing the news crews on why he’d called them.

  With the media attention facing forward, Jessica was able to mill around behind the crowd and listen to the chief’s explanation. Being informed was definitely a good idea, considering she trusted him about as much as she’d trust Jimmy Dean to guard a pot of gold or Emma to go three days without taking a selfie.

  “This press conference is in regards to the hit and run incident of which my wife, Ruth Wurst, was recently the victim. This is a follow-up to yesterday’s briefing, as more information has since come forward. Some of it fills in the blanks, while some of it contradicts the information that has been previously presented. But I can assure you this is the correct story.”