She heard Helen introduce her, using her real name, as instructed by Wendy, and suddenly it was showtime.
She stepped out, felt rather than heard the applause, and swallowed down the swell of emotion bubbling up in her.
Damn, acceptance from strangers felt good.
Wave, don’t trip, hug Helen, then chair.
She found herself seated without remembering how she’d gotten there. Perhaps she’d simply ridden the wave of applause. She discovered quickly that laughing with your teeth was a natural result of having so many soccer moms cheer for your mere presence at once.
“I’m so excited to have you on the show,” Helen said, her sweet voice showing no signs of forced excitement. The host wore similar middle-age white woman regalia to her audience, but her peach-colored boatneck tee and seafoam green capris had clearly passed through the deft hands of a tailor and had never seen the inside of a department store. “I’ve been following you since you were in high school, you know.”
“Really?” Jessica’s genuine shock elicited a wave of laughter from the studio audience.
Helen laughed too. “It does sound a little creepy when I say it that way, doesn’t it? But seriously, when I heard there was a girl down in Texas kicking hundred-yard field goals, I had to watch the video. Speaking of which, I think we have that, don’t we, Lenny?” She addressed the producer standing to the left of the camera in front of them, and he gave her a thumbs up. A moment later, it was rolling on the screen behind them, and Jessica had nothing to do but watch her young self kick the field goal that won the Mooretown Mexicans the state championship that year. There were far worse things to watch in front of a crowd.
People cheered as the ball passed the uprights and Jessica saw herself for the first time grab the younger version of Christopher Riley and kiss him in front of everyone.
Helen’s audience didn’t mind that part one bit.
Jessica wondered briefly if her plane from Austin to LA had crashed and this was Heaven—sitting here, looking pretty while an influential celebrity played back the best moments of her life for strangers to cheer. Or maybe this was just the result of finally being able to pay Wendy on a bonus system.
“Now, if I’m not mistaken,” Helen said, “that boy you’re kissing in the footage is Chris Riley, the starting quarterback for the Philadelphia Eagles.”
Jessica felt her face heat up, but she was pretty sure it was hidden beneath the overdone blush. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“And the two of you were seen together a couple months ago at a burger joint in Austin. Is it too much to assume the two of you still see a lot of each other?”
She could feel the repressed sexuality of the audience pulsating in anticipation. Draw it out, a tiny, unfamiliar voice inside her said.
So she nodded slowly. “Chris and I dated for a while through high school, college, and we tried to make it work once he moved, but it was tough, you know?”
Helen nodded along sympathetically.
“But yeah, we went out for burgers recently, and we decided that we would rather be together than not, no matter how far apart we lived.”
Helen’s hand flew to her heart. “Does that mean you’re back together?”
“Yeah, we’re back together.”
And now the audience’s applause simply mirrored what Jessica had been feeling for the last two months.
“My heart can’t take that,” Helen said. “That’s really fantastic.” She paused. “Now, a lot has happened since that state championship, correct?”
“Oh yeah.”
“I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that you claim to be the daughter of God.”
“Yes, Helen, that’s true.”
The audience was silent, and she remembered Wendy’s instruction to tread lightly—most of the audience identified as Christian, regardless of whether they attended church, and nothing brought out the fight in people quicker than a threat to their identity.
“I have to be honest, as someone who’s followed the highlights of your life since you were young, I’m inclined to believe you.”
Jessica blinked, refrained from sputtering, “Really?” and instead went with, “Thank you.” A talking point sprang into her head. “It’s nice, as a woman, to be believed.”
Helen turned to the incredulous audience. “Seriously. I mean, has anyone here been following along?” She indicated for a show of hands, and Jessica saw two women in the back raise their hands. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she realized one of the women was Miranda. “I know her!” Jess said before she could stop herself, and she waved.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, it’s my best friend Miranda!”
Helen laughed mirthfully, then said, “Right. Maybe she’ll make some of these highlights, then.”
Jessica was pulled back to reality when her life began flashing before her eyes, literally. She stared at the screen as the images flickered by. She had to be dead. This had to be heaven.
Miranda didn’t make the highlight reel, but Rebel, the barista she’d resurrected at Bat-Ass Brew, did. So did the former statue of LBJ in the middle of the Texas State University Quad when she blasted him to bits. And then there was plenty of footage from multiple angles of her latest resurrection outside Gordon’s. To cap it all off, a clip of her interview in Atlanta after she’d resurrected the mother and her children and publicly pronounced herself God’s daughter.
By the time the reel ended, she felt drained, and the mood in the studio was palpably subdued. Helen responded accordingly with a somber recap. “Now, I understand those were just some of the resurrections you’ve performed.”
Her mind leaped immediately to the bullet riddled colander of a human in her driveway and Jameson’s bloody jaw as he lay dead in his sister’s arms outside Midland Memorial Hospital and the horror in Chris’s eyes when he realized he’d killed Ruth Wurst just before Jessica had discovered her least favorite miracle. “Correct.”
“These probably aren’t fun moments to relive, but I have to say, they’re compelling.”
“Yeah,” Jessica echoed, staring at the blank screen. “They’re not fun to relive.”
“There’s one we didn’t show due to the graphic nature of it.”
“Jameson Fractal?” Jessica said on reflex. The tension in the space tightened.
Helen nodded. “I understand you and Jameson became friends after that.”
“Not till years later, but yes.”
“And the two of you are still on good terms?”
“Oh yeah. I love Jameson. He’s great.”
A sly smile spread over Helen’s face until she could suppress it no more. “That’s good news. Because guess who decided to drop in today. Jameson, come on out here!”
And just like that, the audience lost its collective shit. Jessica turned in her chair, saw the radiant, familiar face of her friend, and knew that no matter what happened from here on out she had this thing in the bag.
Wendy really was a magician.
She didn’t remember everyone getting to their feet when she’d entered, but they did it for him, and she couldn’t blame them. He entered like a firecracker. His mere presence was a refractive thing, sending rainbows in every direction. He waved with both hands, blew two-handed kisses to the audience, and then spread his arms wide for Helen like hugging her was the only thing in the world he could ask for. He lifted her off her feet briefly, and the crowd ate it up. Then he turned to Jessica, who’d stood with the rest of the room upon his entrance, and after a firm hug, he grabbed her shoulders and planted a quick peck on her lips. Nothing salacious, nothing she couldn’t easily explain away to Chris later, but enough to transfer some of his status to her. It was his way of telling her he had her back, and she was grateful for it.
He settled in the chair next to hers, bouncing with hardly contained energy, and patted Jessica on the knee. “I’m so happy to be back on the show, Helen. And with one of my favorite people, no less.”
&n
bsp; When Jessica met his eyes, she saw only safety, trust, and confidence.
And the rest of the show went up from there …
Jessica crawled out of the rideshare, her feet crying out for freedom, her heavy eyelids rebelling, and her serotonin levels at a lifetime high.
After the show, Jameson had insisted on taking Jessica and Miranda out to celebrate with some of his celebrity friends, and who was she to refuse?
But fourteen hours later, she understood why LA was fueled by cocaine and Starbucks, only one of which she’d ingested over the course of her long but terrific day.
As she shuffled toward the hotel entrance, she assigned a fat tip on her phone to the driver, who had seen her on Helen that morning and was now a fan.
“Evening, Miss McCloud,” the doorman said, nodding at her.
“Oh, hi. Evening.” She paused, looked back at him. “How did you know my name?”
“I’m an Eagles fan.”
“Ah. You think they have a chance next season?”
He grinned. “Depends on whether Riley can stay healthy. But with the way the offensive line is shaping up, it might take a miracle.” He winked at her.
Her eyes flew open despite the weight of her lids. “I’ll look into it.”
As she rode the elevator to her room on the seventeenth floor, she had her first real moment since that morning’s grand victory to sit with herself and reflect. People—strangers—in a state she didn’t live in, where famous people were a dime a dozen and hard enough to keep track of, knew who she was now. Many of them, it seemed, even believed she was capable of miracles. Whether they were ready to accept that she was God’s daughter was another thing, but it wouldn’t be a far leap.
This was it. She was doing it!
The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out into the long, silent hallway.
Oh shit. This was it. She was doing it.
She was doing the thing that she always feared would get her killed, and she was going full-force into it.
The lock to her room flashed red when she slipped her card in. “Dammit!”
YOU SEEM UPSET, DAUGHTER.
Ya think?
She tried it again, and this time it flashed green, and she was facedown on the airy white comforter before she knew it.
“I can’t do this,” she moaned.
YOU JUST DID. YOU’VE BEEN DOING IT ALL DAY.
She rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “That wasn’t me! That was some other woman who took over my body, who made me friendly and open and—fuck, did I have charisma? I mean, I certainly know I didn’t. But whoever possessed me today might have. And if that’s who they think I am, it’s only a matter of time before they’re let down, before that woman decides not to show up on time for my morning show appearances, and the whole country realizes that I’m just …” She struggled for the word. “Just me.”
YOU ARE TALKING LIKE A CRAZY PERSON, SWEETIE.
“Thanks a lot.”
NO ONE TOOK YOU OVER. THAT WAS YOU.
“What if I can never reproduce it?”
YOU DID IT ONCE, YOU CAN DO IT AGAIN. HAVE FAITH.
“You know I have faith in nothing.”
I’M NOT ASKING YOU TO HAVE FAITH IN ANYTHING BUT YOURSELF.
“Faith that I’ll get myself killed.”
AND SO WHAT?
“And so …” So what? That was a good question. “And so I’ll be dead.”
HATE TO BE THE ONE TO TELL YOU THIS, BUT IT’S COMING FOR YOU NO MATTER WHAT.
“But there are better and worse ways to die.”
NO, IT’S ALL KIND OF THE SAME ON THE COSMIC SCALE.
“But … pain.”
DYING USUALLY HURTS, YES.
“I just want to die peacefully in my sleep when I’m old.”
YOU AND EVERYONE ELSE, DAUGHTER. BUT HAVE YOU EVER THOUGHT THIS WHOLE THING ISN’T ABOUT YOU AND WHAT YOU WANT?
“Are you kidding? Of course! I think about how I don’t want this life every single day.”
NOT LIKE THAT. YOUR PURPOSE. THE REASON YOU EXIST. IT ISN’T ABOUT YOU. JUST LIKE YOUR MOTHER’S LIFE ISN’T ABOUT HER, AND CHRISTOPHER’S LIFE ISN’T ABOUT HIM.
“Wait. You did this to everyone? You made it so that no one’s life is about them?”
DUH.
“What is my life about, then?”
THAT’S THE REAL ME-DAMNED QUESTION, ISN’T IT?
It sure was.
She continued staring at the speckled ceiling, and as she did, a new tally began in her head. Not the days until her thirty-third birthday or the total donations her church had received or how much longer until Jimmy’s bullshit doomsday, but something with much more appeal—all the things her life was, or could be, about.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
72:13:22:18 until Doomsday
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
This was the moment. Clint Daniels, her new attorney since Wendy’s ugly breakup with Angelo Samuels, had coached her through this part. He’d been very explicit: Do not scoff at the last four words of the oath. Just say yes and let it go.
Jessica didn’t scoff, but she definitely smirked. “So help me God, yes.”
For a civil matter, this hearing had amassed quite the media turnout. She’d known her response would play well with the cameras, and indeed she saw a few reporters struggle to suppress their grin. No cameras had been allowed into the courtroom, and that was a real shame; she’d dressed up, and she was feeling like this could have been Helen in the Morning all over again.
She took her hand off the Bible and sat.
Jesus grinned at her and shot her a thumbs up. Would people one day swear on her biography, even if it was riddled with as many inaccuracies at her brother’s?
She didn’t know why she felt so confident today. Wendy and Clint didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm. The only way she could describe it was that some act, some force had been set in motion sometime in the past, and she was pretty sure it would reveal itself today. For once, she thought it would work out for her.
Had Rebel slipped something extra in her Nosferabrew this morning? Or was this what faith felt like? Or was there something more substantial that made her feel this way?
Clint Daniels was the first up. “Miss McCloud, would you please state your full legal name?”
“Jessica McCloud.”
“No middle name?”
“No, sir.
“And I understand you now answer to, at least publicly, Jessica Christ. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.
“Do you like that name?”
“Not even a little bit.”
Daniels faked a playful chuckle as if they hadn’t rehearsed this. “Okay. Noted. How, then, did you come by that name?”
“Jimmy Dean started it.” And couldn’t that statement apply to so much?
“Jimmy Dean? The man who was present at your birth? The one most people know as Texas Railroad Commissioner Reverend Jimmy Dean?”
“Yeah. That one.”
“And he began calling you that at a young age, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why do you think he began calling you that?”
“Because I’m the daughter of God.”
“That makes sense.”
Nothing could make less sense, she thought.
Daniels continued, “Will you state what your relationship is with the plaintiff, Dolores Natasha Thomas?”
“Nothing now. But I’ve known her since she taught me in kindergarten.” And she’s Lucifer.
“Kindergarten? Wow, that’s a long time. And how would you describe your relationship with Mrs. Thomas for the majority of the time since you met?”
“It was good. I sort of thought of her as a mother figure. When I was younger and had the normal teenage angst, I sometimes wished she was my mother.” She found Destinee’s eyes in the crowd. Her mother didn’t appear hurt by the statement�
�she probably already knew it. But in the end, Destinee had won, hadn’t she? Jessica had bet wrong, bet on Satan. Whoops.
“Did you have any reason to believe she was going after your personal brand of Jessica Christ, daughter of God?”
“No. None whatsoever. She always encouraged me to explore life and be whatever I wanted to be. Whenever I’d tell her I was God’s daughter and needed to follow that path, she would encourage me to consider if it was really what I wanted to be, and of course it wasn’t. She was one of the only people telling me I didn’t have to be a messiah if something else would make me happier.”
“And you appreciated that?”
“Of course. You know what happened to Jesus, right? I’m not exactly in a hurry to follow in his final footsteps up to the cross.”
Jesus laughed loudest of all at that from his seat beside Destinee, and she thought she heard him say, “Good call.”
“Do you have any reason to believe, Miss McCloud, that Mrs. Thomas would have wanted to prevent you from moving into the public eye as the Daughter of God?”
“I do. When I finally stepped up, even just a little bit, by opening a bakery and showing off one of my miracles, she did everything in her power to thwart it.”
“Including?”
“She inserted herself into the process under the guise of helping me. When my first bakery burned down—the truck, that is—I was desperate for money to start a brick and mortar one. When I ran into her one day, she insisted that she give me the rest of the money I need, and I would start paying her back once I made a certain amount of profit for a certain number of months in a row.”
“I believe you’re referring to the contract in question in this suit, yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And did you read the fine print at the bottom?”
The End Is Her Page 24
