The End Is Her

by H. Claire Taylor

  The reporter blinked. What was this idiot expecting? She’d asked a leading question and gotten the answer she’d wanted. And yet … “Did you administer CPR?”

  “No.”

  “Would you say the paramedics declared the victims dead prematurely?”

  “No. They were dead. Very dead. Otherwise I couldn’t have resurrected them.”

  “You’re claiming that you just brought three people back from the dead without using CPR.”

  “Right.”

  “What technique did you use?”

  Feeling suddenly on the border of hysterics, she said, “The power of God,” and grinned. “I used the power of God. I performed a miracle. Three miracles, actually.” She chuckled, and the reporter’s face only grew paler.

  Another news van had arrived, and she heard the male reporter call to his cameraman, “Jessica Christ! It’s her!”

  Shit, had they heard about her all the way in Georgia? She’d occasionally made headlines throughout her life, but she’d always assumed no one outside of Texas kept up.

  “Miss McCloud,” the male reporter shouted, still yards away but closing. He was built more like a linebacker than a TV personality, and Jessica wondered how his cameraman kept all of him in the shot without standing farther back.

  He shouldered the pale woman out of the way. “Miss McCloud. Jim Denver, Channel Twelve News. I just saw the cell phone footage online, and can you explain what we just saw?”

  “I just resurrected three people.”

  “Resurrecting three people, some might consider such a thing nothing short of a miracle!”

  “And they’d be right. It was a miracle. I just performed three miracles. That’s something I can do. I’m …” She looked around. If she thought traffic was at a standstill before, she had no idea just how still it could get. It looked like the front lawn at a Mooretown family reunion, cars pointing every which way, squeezing in whatever available space they could find. Faces gaped at her from behind tinted windows.

  Jim Denver cleared his throat, pulling her attention back to the interview.

  Aw, fuck it. Let’s do this.

  THAT’S THE SPIRIT.

  “My name’s Jessica McCloud. I’m … from Texas. And I’m the daughter of God.”

  The proclamation sent tingles down her spine, but whether they were simply a result of adrenaline as her body urged her to choose flight flight flight after proclaiming something so insanely dangerous, she couldn’t be sure. It felt a little good.

  After a moment’s stunned pause, the reporters’ questions started flying at high speeds.

  “That’s enough,” came a now familiar voice from behind her. Sgt. Gabriel stepped between Jessica and the cameras and told the news crews in no uncertain terms to buzz off. Then she turned to Jessica and said in a low voice, “Let’s get you out of here,” and led her with a firm hand on the small of her back toward her van.

  “That was brave,” said the sergeant. “It’s true?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good, good. I thought so. Brave of you to say it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Not a compliment, just a fact. I’ve seen some of the department’s best men and woman get killed for that kind of bravery. But it’s the right thing to do, anyway. I make sure their widows know it, too.” They paused in front of Jesus and Judith. “You’d better let someone else drive. I can spot an adrenaline crash when I see it.” She reached in her breast pocket and pulled out a card. “You call me if you get into any more trouble in this state. I know people.”

  “We’re headed to Alabama, but thanks.”

  The sergeant sucked in air. “Oooh … Alabama? I can’t help you there. No one can. Not even your Father, as far as I know.”

  “It’s …” Ugh, this was going to sound so stupid. “It’s my mother now. God’s a woman.”

  Sgt. Gabriel narrowed her eyes at Jessica for only a moment, then chuckled. “Sounds good. ‘Bout time someone showed up to straighten up this mess of a world, and we both know women always end up with that job.” She looked at Jesus. “No offense.”

  “None taken! Bless you for thinking of me, though!”

  She eyed him skeptically. “He with you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, if you trust him, I’ll have to accept that. Seems a little off to me, though.” She shot him a warning look. “I’ll let you three get back on the road. Be careful. And I have to say it, whether you’ll listen or not. Don’t stop in Alabama. Just drive straight on through back to Texas.”

  A state line later, Jessica sprinted for the van. Jesus, with his toned, lithe body, could have beaten her there if he hadn’t insisted on trying to clear up the misconceptions. That was futile, of course, but he wouldn’t have been Jesus if he hadn’t tried.

  And now he was sprinting, too. She risked a glance over her shoulder to make sure Judith, who’d never been big on physical activity, hadn’t been overtaken by the shouting mob.

  “Queers ain’t welcome!” hollered a stout man in stiff blue jeans, a short-sleeve button-down, and a cowboy hat.

  “Illegals neither!” yelled another similarly dressed man.

  Jessica reached the van and dug in her pocket for the keys. “Shit, shit, shit!” Her hurried attempt to unlock the van door set off the alarm instead. “Fuck!”

  Judith reached the passenger’s side. “Let me in!”

  She found the right button, pressed it, and both front doors flew open without anyone touching them.

  “Get in the van!” Jesus cried. “I believe they intend to harm us!”

  “No shit.” Jessica slammed her door behind her and struggled to get the key into the ignition.

  “Gun, gun, gun!” Judith yelled, pointing out the window.

  Jessica didn’t bother to look. She knew damn well what a gun looked like.

  “Fag!” came a deep voice from outside the vehicle.

  Judith cursed again. “That was the pastor!”

  “Filthy illegal! Go back where you came from!”

  “My pleasure,” Judith shouted back through the closed window.

  Jesus was draped over the back seat, clutching his heart as they fishtailed out of the Alabama church parking lot and made it onto the highway. “So much hate and fear,” he wheezed.

  “They’re not all like that, I’m sure,” Jessica said, trying in vain to comfort her half-brother. “We just picked the wrong church. That’s all.”

  Jesus nodded and pushed himself upright. “That’s wise of you, sister. Most people are good and loving. I’ve seen it myself. Maybe we should try another church to—”

  “NO!” both Jessica and Judith shouted.

  The latter added, “Let’s just get back to Texas. I feel like we’ve learned plenty on this trip. Too much.”

  It was tempting. But they had a plan for a reason, and Jessica intended to stick to it. “Not yet. We still need to stop off in New Or—”

  THOU SHALT HAUL ASS HOME.

  She breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Never mind. Guess this show’s over.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You were absolutely right,” Jessica told Quentin. “It would have been hugely dangerous for you to come.”

  They sat on opposite sides of her sofa, her legs extended as she leaned back against the armrest. Quentin spread out with one arm slung over the back of the couch. Destinee had situated herself on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, and Rex had claimed the stuffed chair, but not without first musing at length on it. On the one hand, he explained, chivalry was at its core chauvinism, and to assume Destinee required a softer spot to sit solely because of her anatomy would be arguably misogynistic. On the other hand, he considered her a goddess-like being, and she could have whatever of his she wanted.

  Only once Destinee told him to shut the hell up and established that it felt better on her back to sit on a rug on the floor had he finally taken his seat.

  “And how was the black church?” Quentin
asked.

  “I know you put Judith up to that. It wasn’t bad outside of the scripture they read, but it’s hardly their fault that nonsense is in the Bible. I just wish I’d been black for it.”

  He nodded. “I bet you felt like a bit of an outsider, huh?”

  “I stood out for sure. Jesus was worse off than me, though.”

  “How is he?” Destinee asked. “Seems like a big trip for the little guy.”

  “I think he’s sleeping it off across the way.”

  “And did you find out anything useful about femininity?” Rex said. “Are you beginning to understand the broad spectrum?”

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to call us that anymore,” said Destinee.

  Jessica ignored it. “I have no idea what it means to be a woman. If I’m gonna pitch it to the masses, I think I’ll have to be vague. I say woman, and they think of whatever that means to them.”

  “But will that work?” Destinee asked. “Will it make your daddy a woman?”

  “No clue. But while we were on the West Coast, we visited quite a few cults. I might’ve picked up a few tricks.”

  Quentin nodded. “I always knew you had it in you to orchestrate a mass suicide.”

  “Not those kinds of cults, Quentin. At least … not yet. They’re probably heading that way, but obviously if they were suicide cults, we wouldn’t have been able to speak with—” Her phone vibrated on the table, and out of habit, she grabbed it to see who was calling. “Wendy,” she announced. “Probably calling to congratulate me on finally stepping up and owning my shit in Atlanta. Hello?”

  The voice on the other line was unusually restrained. “Jessica?”

  “Hey, Wendy.”

  “I want to start by saying I’m proud of you. I just heard you’re back in town.”

  “Yep. Resting up.”

  “Great. You did a good thing in Atlanta. I need you to know that.”

  Uh-oh. “I know that. Why do I need to know that?”

  “Because I’m worried that what I’m about to tell you is going to make you never want to do something like that again, and we are only getting started with you proclaiming yourself the daughter of God.”

  “Just tell me what’s happened.” She could feel the rest of the eyes in the room boring into her.

  “Dolores Thomas has seen that clip, and since she owns the personal brand of Jessica Christ … well, I don’t know if it’ll hold up in court, but she’s suing you for two million dollars.”

  Jessica closed her eyes, waiting for the news to sink in, wondering when the pit would form in her stomach.

  But it didn’t.

  Huh.

  “Jessica? You still there?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m still here. And I think I don’t give a damn what Dolores tries to do. I mean, sue me for what? I own nothing.” A caustic energy bubbled up inside her that felt a little like death but mostly like life. “Jameson still owns the condo, my personal checking account has three dollars and forty-five cents in it until Chris deposits more in there, and she’s already taken everything else. If she goes after my car, I’ll wreck it.” Something deep inside her snapped, and it felt good, like liberation. “Doesn’t she know I’m the goddamned moochsiah? Let her come for me! Everything I have is someone else’s! She can’t get shit off me!”

  She ignored the questioning expressions of those in the room with her. They wouldn’t understand, but she did. She was the moochsiah, and, somehow, that dreaded label had just become her greatest weapon.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  On first blush, the private office at the co-working space didn’t seem like an especially appropriate place to discuss these matters, but once Jessica considered it, she could guess that the Bible had been written in some uninspiring places, too. What was the equivalent of a co-working space two thousand years ago? A town square? A cave?

  A MONASTERY.

  Cash sat at the conference table with their laptop open, typing furiously as Wendy scribbled notes on the whiteboard. Judith sat across from Cash, her records from the trip spread out in front of her.

  “Simplicity is truly our friend here,” Wendy said. “A single landing page will be enough to direct traffic and capture data to retarget. But if we only have one page, we need to unify the main message. Judith?”

  “Right. While we were on the trip, we came up with five commandments.”

  Wendy moaned sensually. “That’s so good. Okay, hit me with them.”

  Judith read them off, and Jessica stared down at the hands on the table, listening to her words read back to her.

  “Don’t be a dick to yourself or others.”

  Wendy’s hand that held an offensively pink dry-erase marker paused above the board for a microsecond before she nodded to herself and wrote that down as commandment number one.

  “It could use a little fine-tuning,” Jessica admitted.

  “Just a rough draft, don’t worry about it,” Wendy said. “Next one?”

  “Sex must be respectful, consensual, and cannot include any non-human animals.”

  Wendy turned from the board to Jessica, a single eyebrow arched high. “That’s a dig at White Light?”

  “Not intentionally,” Jessica said. “It’s kinda always been the rule. Not my fault his people broke it.”

  “And are still breaking it,” Cash said. “New videos keep surfacing.”

  “Ew. Why? We get the point.”

  Cash shrugged. “I can only assume people like watching rednecks fuck pigs.”

  “They like the feeling of superiority when they watch rednecks have sex with pigs,” Wendy corrected.

  But Cash just shrugged. “Whatever you want to tell yourself, but this latest one dropped two days ago and it’s already hit five million views.”

  Jessica grunted. “I always thought the ‘no non-human animals’ thing was unnecessary and went without saying, but …”

  “Nothing goes without saying anymore,” Wendy added. “Next commandment.”

  Judith and Jessica shared a glance. This was easily the one they were least sure about. The language would definitely need some massaging, is all. But ever since Jessica had heard the notion come from Jesus’s mouth, it had wobbled around in her skull, and she had yet to fully explain why it didn’t make sense. And so, it had made the road trip list.

  Judith read it off. “Treat each person as if they are carrying a gun on them.”

  Wendy just stared.

  “Admittedly,” said Jessica, “it could use some work.”

  Wendy sighed. “I agree with you there. You know not everyone is treated equal when they’re carrying a gun, right? Permit or not.”

  “They are by Jesus,” Jessica supplied weakly.

  “Right. How many Jesuses do you know? Okay, that’s fine. Um. I’m sure we can work with this …”

  There was a silence in the conference room, broken only by Cash’s typing, and then Judith spoke. “What about if you treat everyone as if you’re armed and they’re not?”

  Wendy tapped the capped marker to her lips. “I think we might be getting closer now. What’s really happening there, though?”

  Jessica considered it. She’s never been on that side of the barrel. What would it be like? “You’re not afraid of them. You feel like you have protection. You can take more risks, I guess.” Then she remembered so many months ago, outside a bar with Brian and Chris, when the man pulled a gun on them and she’d smote the fire hydrant. Who’d been carrying the gun there, really?

  “Can we leave guns out of it?” she said. “I’m kind of sick of them.”

  “Great thinking. We’ll circle back to this one, because there’s something here, but I don’t know what.”

  Judith looked down at her list again. “Okay, fourth commandment: Claim power over yourself, not others.”

  Wendy appeared shocked at first but wrote it on the board without any questions.

  “What? What is it?” Jessica asked.

  “It’s just really g
ood, that’s all.” She turned to them again. “And number five?

  “We … we don’t know.”

  The publicist blinked. “You don’t know the fifth commandment?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Then why five?”

  Jessica shrugged. “Seemed like a good number.”

  “How about this, then: God is a woman.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s pretty good,” said Jessica.

  “And maybe,” Wendy suggested, “we make it the first one?”

  They agreed to that, and she wrote it down at the top, renumbering the list. “Okay, so the landing page will contain the five commandments—once we’ve ironed them out a bit more—a professional photo of you, and an email sign-up form.”

  Jessica straightened. “Time out. Why do I have to be on there?”

  Wendy put her fists on her waist. “Are we back to this? I thought you were owning this now.”

  “I am, but who wants to see my face? The nicest thing anyone could say about it is that it’s average.”

  “And it’s the face of God. They could say that about it, too,” the publicist snapped. “You have the perfect face for this, Jessica. If you were any prettier, you’d give people a reason to hate you for that. If you were any uglier, people wouldn’t want to look at you. Your plain, symmetrical, pale face is perfect. I couldn’t have picked a better one if I’d been asked to.”

  “That was almost a compliment.”

  “Don’t be thick. It was a compliment.”

  Judith said, “I like how she serves up compliments.”

  “With a side of insult?”

  “We’ll get you a professional photo, don’t worry,” Wendy continued. “And you bet your butt it’ll be touched up. We can’t have the messiah sporting a giant chin pimple.”

  “I ate a lot of gas station food on the trip. It’s not like that’s always there.”

  “My point is that you’re in good hands.”

  “And what about the sign-up form? What are they signing up for?”

  “Ownership.”

  Jessica scanned the other two faces in the room to see if that sounded as ominous to them as it did her. “Ownership of what?”