The End Is Her

by H. Claire Taylor

  “Nope! Hold the hell up. What did you just say?” Jessica shut her eyes as her brain threatened to short circuit. “You had a relationship with him? Not, like, a romantic one, right?”

  “It was a passionate and taboo love affair, yes.”

  “Ew! What’s wrong with you?”

  “I was in a loveless marriage with three awful children. He swooped into my life, showed me the divine in more ways than one and—”

  “Rhetorical,” Jessica spat. “It was a rhetorical question.” She looked around the front steps of the courthouse, where she hunched over her phone, shielding the microphone from the wind, and saw Daniels motioning for her to wrap it up. She waved him off harshly. “So you and Jimmy had a thing, and Dolores wanted you to do something?”

  “Yes. She offered me money. Money to convince Jimmy to burn down her bakery. I wasn’t to let him know it was her idea. I was just supposed to plant the seed.”

  “Why did she want him to burn down the bakery?”

  “She said it was a nuisance. A money pit. But if it burned down, she could collect insurance on it and move on.”

  “It would also make her look like a victim. But go on. I assume you convinced Jimmy, based on the fact that he burned it to the ground.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I paid him a visit and struck up a conversation that would lead us down that road. It didn’t take much prodding.”

  “You know this is a crime. I mean, probably. I don’t know exactly what it’s called, but I can’t imagine it’s legal.”

  Caren sighed heavily into the phone. “It’s a crime against good conscience if nothing else.”

  “Is that why you’re calling? To lighten your conscience? I just mean, this happened a while ago. Why now?”

  The woman sounded excited for a chance to tell that story, and her voice took on a new vibrance. “The burden of the act has been weighing heavily on my heart since. I would have done it for free, I think. Dolores has always been my friend. But this morning I awoke to the fiery New Mexican sunrise with a heavy heart. So, I went into my tent and commenced a spirit journey.”

  “You tripped balls.”

  “Commenced a spirit journey. And on that spirit journey I found myself on the precipice of a yawning hole in the earth. I looked over the edge and into a writhing, bubbling bath of lava. It was like looking straight into hell. And then I heard movement behind me and turned to find a regal lioness. She told me her name was Asha.”

  “Wait. Was this lioness especially foul-mouthed?”

  “Yes. Very much so. But not at first. At first she simply came to stand next to me and stare into the gaping chasm of hell. And from that chasm I heard a voice. A familiar one. It was Dolores. She was telling me to jump. To jump! Into the scalding pit of lava! And, Jessica, I must tell you that I considered it. She told me that I had walked the long path to get here, and all I need do to complete my journey was take that final step. This was my destination the whole time. She claimed the fire would purify me as it did her, and that it was the only way to true enlightenment.

  “I almost did it. I almost took that final step.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because of Asha. She said, and I’ll do my best to quote verbatim, because I believe the wording is important to the message, but forgive me if I’m not entirely correct. She said, ‘Bitch, if you’re even considering that shit, you’re even more fucknuts than I thought. That voice speaking to you? That’s the motherfucking Devil! You’ve been doing all this spiritual bullshit out here in this dry as fuck desert, hoping for some sort of breakthrough, and your dumb ass can’t even identify Satan when you look her in the eyes. What kind of a bitch-ass guru are you?’”

  “Is that,” Jessica began, feeling slightly embarrassed on the part of her spirit animal, “is that all she said?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  She let out a heavy breath. “I guess you didn’t jump.”

  “No, I came back to reality with a start! It took me a minute to understand what the message was trying to tell me”—dumbass, Jessica thought—“but then I realized. I think … I think it was trying to tell me that Dolores might be a negative influence in my life.”

  A gabby group came up the stairs toward Jess, and she stuck a finger into her free ear to drown them out. “No, Caren. It was telling you that Dolores Thomas is Satan. Literally the Devil incarnate. She has ruined my life with your help, which I think makes you a minion of Satan. Maybe that’s what the vision was telling you. Either way, I’ve got good news for you. Your timing is impeccable, and you might have gone and redeemed yourself slightly.”

  “Have I?”

  “Maybe. I gotta go, but might I suggest never speaking to either Dolores or Jimmy ever again? And if you see Asha in another trip, tell her I said hi. Then do whatever she says.” Daniels set a firm hand on her shoulder and she shrugged it off. “Before I go, can you confirm one more time that Dolores Natasha Thomas paid you to convince Jimmy Dean to set fire to It is Risen bakery?”

  “What the hell?” muttered Daniels.

  Jessica ignored him, waiting for the response that could fix so much in her life. So, so much.

  “Yes,” Caren said. “Yes, she paid me five hundred dollars to convince him.”

  “Five hundred?! That’s it?” It was too bad Asha hadn’t smacked Caren around a little when she had the chance. Put those big-ass paws to good use. “Okay, that’s beside the point. Thanks for calling. Consider your conscience clear.” Caren attempted a goodbye that had the word “blessed” in it, but Jessica had her finger on the red phone icon before she could be subjected to any more nonsense.

  She looked up at Daniels, whose mouth was hanging slightly open, his eyes wide. “What was that?”

  “That,” Jessica said, “was great timing.”

  Thanks.

  YOU’RE WELCOME, SWEETIE.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  68:03:48:09 until Doomsday

  The cool night air ran fingers through Jessica’s hair as she stood on the rooftop of the McConaughey Hotel and soaked up her victory. A sweeping view of downtown met her on all sides, and she felt something delicious flowing through her veins. What good chemical was that? Serotonin? Or perhaps just a lack of adrenaline?

  THIS SEEMS A BIT EXCESSIVE.

  I couldn’t stop him from doing it. He insisted. Something about taxes.

  YOU MEAN EXCESSIVELY AVOIDING PAYING THEM?

  Can’t you just let me have this one? I finally defeated the Devil. Thanks for the help, by the way.

  Jeremy Archer, whose finances were covering this elaborate reservation, sat at a bench in the far corner of the rooftop deck, hunched over, the glow of his phone lighting his bored expression as he scrolled, scrolled, scrolled.

  “I think that toilet’s malfunctioning,” Destinee said, coming back outside to join the rest of the group. “Tried to flush it and it squirted water all over my boots!”

  Rex headed over from the small bar, two freshly mixed drinks in hand, and passed one over to his live-in girlfriend. Destinee stared down at it. “What’s this?”

  “Mojito. I found a great recipe for it on one of the mommy blogs I follow, and I’ve been wanting to give it a try.”

  She eyed it suspiciously. “There’s not breast milk in this, is there?”

  He grinned and slipped an arm around her waist. “No. Not in the mojitos. Maybe someday I’ll make you the white Russians, though.” He addressed both mother and daughter as he explained, “You know, the microbiome of breastmilk is unmatched. It’s much more compatible with our immune system than cow’s milk. I tell you, the female body is really a thing of wonder.”

  “My drink’s not strong enough,” Destinee said.

  “You haven’t tried it.”

  “Don’t need to. Either make it stronger or stop talking about titty juice.”

  They walked back to the bar, leaving Jessica alone again to take in the scene. In a far corner of the rooftop, Judith and Brian made out shameles
sly, and in another, Quentin was playing phone photographer for Chris, who had mentioned earlier that he needed a sweet shot for his Insta. Which left one person unaccounted for …

  “Sister,” Jesus said from behind her, causing her to jump. “Sorry, sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Are you having fun?”

  He nodded. “I have never been up this high before.”

  “But what about …?” She nodded skyward.

  “It’s not …” He narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s not really in the sky.”

  “Right. I knew that.”

  He moved to stand beside her, gazing out over the rooftops and twinkling electric lights. “I think if I’d been this high in my first life, I might not have proceeded the same way.”

  “I guess it’s good you were never up this high, then.”

  “I suppose so.” But he didn’t look so sure.

  “Hey, grab yourself a drink. I’m feeling in the mood for a toast.”

  He nodded, his brows still pinched with the afterglow of deep introspection.

  “And if Rex offers you anything with dairy, don’t take it.”

  Chris and Quentin finished up their shoot, and a moment later, she had a citrus-y smelling drink in her hand, and the others gathered round (Judith and Brian required a little extra prodding).

  “I’d like to raise a glass to everyone here tonight. Thanks to Jeremy for these swank accommodations, and to Chris for fixing me this drink, and to everyone else who’s helped me on this just plain stupid journey. God told me when I was eight years old that I’d have to take on the Devil, and it’s been hanging over my head ever since. But now that I’ve beat her at her own game, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted. I finally have a win, and with months to spare before the first service at Church of the Girl Christ. So, here’s to all the help you’ve offered me. I’m glad to say it wasn’t all for naught.” She lifted her glass, and the rest followed suit. But as her gaze momentarily passed Jesus’s, she felt a jolt run through her at his downturned expression. Why did he look so glum?

  She shoved it from her mind, focusing instead on Chris’s jubilant grin right before he and Quentin saw who could chug their drink fastest.

  “That was beautiful, baby. I’m so damn proud of you.” Destinee wiped a tear from her eye and told Rex, “This mojito thing is good. Don’t tell Dos Equis I said that.”

  “I’ll get you another one, my goddess.”

  “Imma watch you make it this time. Maybe I can learn something.”

  “You know what muddling is?”

  “No fuckin’ clue, but sounds dirty.”

  Jesus stepped forward and took Jessica by the arm, leading her away from the rest. “A word, sister?”

  They paused by the glass door to the elevator as two bats swooped out of the night air and then disappeared just as quickly. “I don’t mean to detract from your celebration with what I’m about to say. After all, you did best the Devil this week, and that’s no easy feat.”

  “But?”

  “It’s not a one-time thing, I’m afraid. She’s not going to lose this round and forfeit. She’s the Devil, Jessica. Doing evil is all she has. She’s not going to give up and retire to Florence.”

  “Florida,” Jessica corrected halfheartedly. “That’s the place old people go.”

  “She won’t go there, either.”

  “But I thought you battled with the Devil in the desert and that was that?”

  “It worked out for story purposes to write it that way, but the Devil confronted me pretty much constantly, even when I was on the cross. No, especially when I was on the cross. You don’t battle with the Devil once. You battle with it constantly. Nonstop. Death is the only relief. And the stronger your power for good, the more relentless the Devil becomes. She’ll have fixated on you, Jessica. I just want you to be prepared.”

  “She threw everything she had at me, though. What does she have left? She made her move, and I outsmarted her. I won. Nothing she can throw at me can compare to stealing my bakery and trying to take my personal brand.”

  “What about stealing your church? Or destroying it?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, found no words, and filled the thing with alcohol instead. “I’d like to see her try.”

  “No,” he called after her as she returned to the rest of the group. “You would not like it.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  05:17:55:34 until Doomsday

  Jessica had heard more than once that women didn’t even need to have periods anymore. There were pills and procedures that could stop it, apparently. As she stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of her condo that morning and saw the firefighters working tirelessly to extinguish a lightning-struck car parked right down the street outside the boutique candy store, she wondered if she should look into such a thing for herself. On the one hand, it would be nice to not be kept awake by raging storms when she was at the point of lowest estrogen and progesterone in her cycle and could really use the sleep. But on the other hand, the world could do with fewer pedophiles. Her cycles had eased up and regulated significantly since her teen years anyway, and now they were manageable and only one or two pedophiles were struck down each time she began spotting.

  What would it be like, she wondered, to make decisions for her body without having to consider her social responsibility to others?

  It was a shame that she was on her period today of all days. It was a big one (the day, not the period). The biggest of her life, perhaps. And, as would naturally follow, the one most likely to end in her assassination.

  And who will resurrect me? It was a desperate thought she kept circling back around to.

  And close on its heels, Oh right. Jesus could probably do it.

  Man, it was handy to have another demigod around.

  He would be there, of course. As would pretty much everyone she knew and then some. The grand opening. The inaugural service.

  She breathed in the fresh air, choked on the toxic smoke from the burning vehicle as the wind brought it toward her, and eventually managed to get her senses about her again.

  It was July first. Six days until the end of the world.

  Considering, it was a pretty nice day.

  Destinee and Rex pulled up to the curb, and Jessica jumped in the back seat of the old truck.

  “Any idea what the hell happened there?” Destinee nodded at the infernal sedan.

  “Pedophile.”

  “Ah. You got enough tampons to last you then, or you need us to stop somewhere?”

  Jessica patted her purse. “I’m all set.”

  Rex turned to look at her over his shoulder. “You look powerful today, McCloud. You’re absolutely radiating the divine feminine.”

  “Thanks.”

  With the Devil out of her way, and Jimmy Dean wrapped up in his apocalyptic theatrics, Jessica had been able to focus all her attention over the last two months on the construction, landscaping, and design of this goliath undertaking. And as of last week, the very first Church of Girl Christ was complete. And it was perfect.

  She’d spent every day since reveling in it. It was her home. It was everything she thought a church ought to be, and not even Wendy Peterman could tell her how to decorate this time. This was her church.

  The dome was northeast of downtown, and as it came into view down the street, Jessica’s heart raced. Everything about it made her feel lightheaded, from the stone archway that resembled two Nubian giraffes necking to the wild, abundant vegetation surrounding the grounds—vines already crept up the legs of benches she’d scattered around for people to sit and daydream. The more hidden benches would be key make-out spots for teens, and she even loved that idea. Making out at church! How fun!

  Indoor plants were non-negotiable for her, though no one tried to talk her out of it, and as she stepped through the threshold, it was like she’d entered the Amazon. Natural light streamed in through the surrounding windows and skylights, making the inside feel almost identical to th
e outside. With the exception of the restrooms, a changing room, two meeting rooms, and an office, it was all a single space, large, open, with not an uncomfortable pew to be found. Long, arced pillows spread out from the center of the room like sound waves, each one sewn out of rich, vibrant colors—purples and golds and reds and greens. When she stood in the center of the room and looked around, only one word came to mind: celebration. And not of her, thankfully. No, not a celebration of her life or anyone else’s in particular. But everyone’s celebration of being together. Celebration of being allowed to leave at any time, no questions asked.

  She was alone in the dome now, letting her imagination run wild with images of people settling in on the pillows, feeling the sunshine overhead, feeling like they were in nature, like they were nature.

  “And so the humans gather,” spoke the voice of Sir David Attenborough in her mind, “to celebrate surviving one more dark night and to welcome the safety of another warm day.”

  It was a warm day, but it was pleasant inside.

  Nothing lasts.

  The truth of that had lived with her for her entire life. In her happiest moments, the ones of victory, of friendship, of joy, it had been there, tapping her on the shoulder, whispering its name. Nothing lasts.

  It was always strangely quiet when she found herself in the midst of things she wished would pass, but perhaps she’d heard it after all. Perhaps her misery had simply drowned out its quiet voice. Nothing lasts. But she must have heard it, or else how would she have carried on? There had been so much struggle, so many lows. Yet here she was.

  And it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. The good didn’t last and neither did the bad. Nothing lasts.

  She was prepared for it this time. She was ready for things to rise and fall. And she was determined for it to happen on her terms this time.

  The mauve carpeting kept her from hearing the footfalls until they were right behind her, and she turned to find Jeremy Archer only a few feet away. He had his hands on his hips and nodded as he looked around. “Yeah, I suppose this will do.” He looked down at her. “You’ve done a fine job. The extraterrestrials will be impressed. They’ve always enjoyed a good dome.”