It is Risen

by H. Claire Taylor

  “Damn.” She dog-eared the page, shut the book, and answered the door.

  “Sorry to bug you again,” he said, clasping his hands tightly and frowning. “I’ve been torn between giving you space and checking on you to make sure you were okay after that guy showed up. Checking on you finally won out. I know you said he was harmless, but he is still a man, and all men are dangerous lunatics, no matter what they say.” He grinned apologetically.

  “Um. That means you’re a dangerous lunatic, too, though, right?”

  Jeremy straightened up quickly. “Huh?” He pointed at his chest. “Me? Oh, no. Not at all. Not at all.”

  She decided to let it slide. “Well, you’re right to some degree. The Great and Powerful Jimmy is far from harmless. He harms me pretty much constantly; it’s just not in a physical sense.”

  Jeremy nodded along, though his fear didn’t appear assuaged. “So … are you good?”

  “Yeah, no need to call the militia,” she said, forcing a reassuring grin.

  “Oh no,” he said, “you can’t call them. They don’t have phones.”

  She chuckled before realizing he wasn’t joking. “Of course.”

  Then, as the memory of his comforting hug in the hallway almost three months earlier surfaced, followed closely by the one where he’d held her back from running into her flaming trailer, a strange idea occurred to her: Jeremy was her friend.

  If nothing else, he had proximity in his favor, which was more than could be said for all but two of her friends at present. Sure, he was borderline unhinged, likely suffering from a smorgasbord of mental disorders, but when push came to shove, he’d been there for her. Maybe beliefs didn’t matter so much as actions.

  “Hey, do you want to come in? I was just about to practice my baking, and I need a test subject.”

  His concern evaporated and he smiled. “Certainly! I love bread!”

  Okay then. Let’s see how this goes. She stepped to the side and welcomed him into her home.

  “I always smell you baking over here,” he said, “so I’ll be glad to get to try it myself, finally.”

  “Make yourself at home, then. It’ll be nice to have the company.” Only as she said it did she realize how much she meant it.

  “Ditto. Ooo, what are you reading?” He pointed at the book then grabbed it off the couch and read the cover himself. “Wait, a second. You said the man downstairs was named Jimmy. Was that Jimmy Dean? The Jimmy Dean?”

  “The one and only,” Jess said, preheating the oven.

  Jeremy brought the book over to the kitchen island and parked himself on a stool. “I’ve heard about him. Seen him on the news, too. Didn’t know he had a book, though.” He glanced up at her. “You wrote the foreword for this?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good. You shouldn’t call yourself Jessica Christ. It’s tacky.”

  She laughed dryly. “I agree.”

  “You mind if I read this while you bake?”

  “Suit yourself. It’s just a bunch of lies.”

  He pressed his lips together, cocking his head to the side and staring at her with what appeared to be pity. “Of course it is. It’s a traditionally published book. Everyone knows the big six only publish pro-anti-freedom propaganda from the mainscream media.”

  She braced herself on the island, inspecting Jeremy as he browsed the copyright page. “I don’t think I ever asked you what you do for work,” she said. “I assume you work from home?”

  “Uh-huh,” he said distractedly. “I’m the CEO of a corporation that owns a lot of other corporations. We specialize in financial and media conglomerates.” He flapped a hand at her without looking up. “It’s all very boring. Basically, Murdock and Buffet wanted some responsibilities off their plate, so I helped them out.”

  “That sounds like … a lot. If you don’t have the time in the middle of the day to—”

  Jeremy glanced up from the book. “Don’t worry. I have nothing but time. Everyone says there’s no finish line for success, but that’s just because they haven’t reached it yet. I limit myself to three major business decisions a day, and that seems to do the trick. The rest of the work is done by other people. They do the research, present me the options, explain the pros and cons, then I say, ‘that one,’ and they make it happen. It’s a nice setup. You should consider it.” He flipped to the first page of the foreword. “Anyway, I’ve already made my three decisions for the day, so I’m free until tomorrow. And in case you’re wondering, yes, it’s as wonderful as it sounds.”

  “Huh. Yeah, I can’t see a drawback, actually.” She turned toward the pantry and away from her neighbor so he wouldn’t see her expression of utter confusion while she tried to unpack the riddle of Jeremy’s life and also gather the ingredients for banana nut muffins.

  “Any food allergies?” she asked.

  “I stay away from corn.”

  “Not a problem.”

  He scoffed. “I wish. It’s in everything.”

  “Well, since I’m making this from scratch and know the ingredients, I feel safe to say there’s no corn in banana nut muffins.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Whatever you say.”

  “I’m using wheat flour.”

  “Exactly.”

  Maybe company wasn’t what she needed, but it didn’t matter, because Jeremy quickly focused in on the book, and she lost herself in the familiar flow of baking, tweaking the previous day’s recipe to add a little less mushed banana and a little more flour.

  As she put the finished product into the oven, she heard Jeremy slam the book shut behind her. “Phew! What a psycho!” he proclaimed.

  She closed the oven and set the timer. “Yep. How far are you into it?”

  “Done.”

  She turned around. “Done? Like, finished?”

  He nodded cheerily. “Yep. Speed reader. It’s the key to much of my success. I’ve read over a hundred thousand books in my lifetime.”

  While she would be the first to admit she wasn’t a reader, that seemed like a lot by anyone’s standards. “Traditionally published books?”

  He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Was this one as bad as all the others?”

  He leaned forward, stressing each word. “Much worse.”

  She grinned. “I knew I liked you.”

  “How long do the muffins take?”

  When she turned to look at the oven timer, her eye instead landed on the clock on the microwave.

  Two past six.

  “Shit! I’m supposed to watch the news!”

  She ran over to the coffee table, grabbed the remote and turned the TV to channel six.

  “Good thinking, Jessica. It’s always smart to know what the masses are being fed. I appreciate the dedication.”

  “No, Jimmy told me to watch it today.” She parked it on the sofa. “So I apologize if something on it upsets me.”

  Jeremy strolled over and joined her on the couch. “I’d be worried if you watched an entire newscast without becoming upset by something. Complacency is their end goal, Jessica.”

  “Whose end goal?”

  “Theirs.” He nodded at the TV.

  That still didn’t answer her question, but she dropped it as the commercial ended and Magda Masterson and Steve Solstice appeared at the anchor desk, grinning like someone had slipped a molly in their afternoon coffee.

  Steve took the lead, but not before he wiped the grin from his face and robotically turned down the corners of his mouth, pinching together his botoxed eyebrows as much as his skin’s restricted elasticity would allow.

  “A shooting in a north Austin gentleman’s club has left three dead and seven injured. Authorities say Caesar Gonzalez-Ramirez entered Amor Loco around one a.m. and opened fire, targeting his girlfriend who worked there. Police say other patrons then returned fire, killing Caesar. It’s unclear at this point whether it was Caesar or those returning fire who ultimately shot Maria Castillo, the girlf
riend of Caesar Gonzalez-Ramirez, but she was hit and died later at the hospital.”

  Magda shook her head slowly, then turned to the teleprompter and grinned. “Watch out, ACL! A new music festival is moving to Austin, and this one plans to be the weirdest of all!”

  Steve jumped back in with, “The Hemp City Organics Keep Austin Weird Like it Used to Be Festival aims to bring in musicians, filmmakers, tech pioneers, and oil investors from around the globe to celebrate what makes Austin special. The council in charge of the festival hopes it can grow into a profitable business over the next five years that will earn enough to help Austin’s many victims of gentrification find affordable housing in Bastrop, Dripping Springs, San Marcos, and other surrounding towns well outside Travis County.”

  Jeremy elbowed Jessica to get her attention. “Are you upset yet?”

  “Yes, greatly.”

  “Good, good.” He paused then, “Oh, I mean, if you’re too upset, let me know and I can tell Magda to tone it down with the judgmental head shakes.”

  Jessica slipped him some side eye. “It’s not her gestures that I find upsetting.” Then her head swiveled around toward him. “Wait. You know Magda?”

  “Psh, no. Not personally. But technically the buck stops with me when it comes to her job. So I just have to write up a memo, and then my assistant hands it to his assistant and so on and so forth until Magda gets word.”

  “No, that’s not necessary,” Jessica said, unsure what else there was to say.

  It wasn’t until the news returned from another commercial break that Jessica found out why Jimmy had told her to tune in.

  It started with Magda, and Jessica couldn’t help but wonder if the woman knew what sort of a lunatic could determine whether she worked another day in the industry she’d probably spent her whole life clawing through. “As elections for the Texas Railroad Commissioner position loom, one Texan you might recognize has thrown his hat into the ring.”

  “That’s right, folks,” Steve said, “Midland’s own mayor and self-proclaimed voice of the new messiah, Jessica Christ, has decided to run for the coveted position of Railroad Commissioner, as he announced in a press conference early this morning.”

  The screen cut to Jimmy standing outside the original White Light Church, which Jessica almost didn’t recognize due to a few massive structural add-ons. But one thing that remained from the two times Jessica had visited the grounds was the giant statue of Jimmy, which was visible just over the real Jimmy’s right shoulder. He was dressed in the same attire she’d seen him in hours before, except his hair gel seemed to have a much firmer grasp as he addressed the crowd at his press conference. “I’ve served Midland the best I know how, and I’m proud to say I’m the best Midland has ever seen. But my quest to put God back in government doesn’t stop at the edge of the Midland city limits. That would be unfair to the millions of others who don’t benefit from my efforts. It’s time to expand the reach of my stewardship, and while many of my esteemed colleagues have encouraged me to run for the governor of this great state, I reject that notion. The office of governor is seductive, make no mistake, but I prayed to God and asked where He wanted me, and He said, ‘Jimmy, your entire life has been leading you on a path that does not take you through the Governor’s Mansion. Reflect and you will see what path I have laid before you.’

  “So here I am today to announce that I will be running for Texas Railroad Commissioner, and I believe that if you read Railed to the Cross, you will understand how my whole life has been leading up to this moment and that I’m the absolute best man for the job.”

  The screen cut back to the studio. Steve asked, “Have you read Railed to the Cross, Magda?”

  “Not yet, should I?”

  “I did and enjoyed it. Great read.”

  “Alright then!”

  Steve straightened the papers on his desk then looked into the camera. “Look who’s back! It’s Mr. Swine Flu!”

  Jessica shut off the TV. “What the hell is the Texas Railroad Commission?” This had obviously been Jimmy’s play from the start, but why?

  Jeremy stared wide-eyed at the black TV screen. “Wow. This is bad.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  “This is really bad.”

  She shoved him in the shoulder to get his attention. “Why? Why is this really bad?”

  He snapped out of his fugue and looked her dead in the eyes. “For years, the Texas Railroad Commission was one of the most powerful groups in the country, not just the state. Once OPEC came around, some of that control was taken out of the hands of the TRC, but it still holds a frightening amount of power.” He shook his head. “I should have known this day would come.”

  “Hey. I have literally no idea what anything you’re saying means, but it’s freaking me the hell out.”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. “It should.” He let go and began pacing around the living room. Finally he stopped and turned toward her, a balled fist held anxiously beneath his chin. “Railroads have long since become federally regulated, meaning the TRC has almost nothing to do with them. What it does regulate, though, is the oil and gas industry. It used to be on a much larger scale—they could determine how much was drilled and sold—they essentially controlled the prices. OPEC took that away from them, at least at face value. Then we created three seats as Railroad Commissioner to split the power, but there’s still a top dog among the three. So now the Texas Railroad Commission controls oil and natural gas production in Texas but pretends it doesn’t.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Do you realize how much money there is in oil?”

  “Obviously not, because you seem to and you look like you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

  “That’s because I am,” he spat. “Jessica, the most powerful Texan hasn’t been the governor for a very long time. The office that holds the most power in this state is the Chairman of the Texas Railroad Commissioners.”

  “Shit … balls.” She stood from the couch, too, her heart speeding up. “But wait! Jimmy doesn’t know anything about oil and natural gas, does he?”

  Jeremy shut his eyes and shook his head, swallowing hard before replying. “Not that I saw mentioned in his book, but he does have quite an intimate knowledge of the railroads of America.”

  “But you said the TRC has nothing to do with railroads! He shouldn’t get elected just because it sounds like he kind of knows what he’s talking about!”

  “Jessica!” he shouted, wiping a hand over his mouth, “This is politics. That’s the only reason anyone gets elected for anything!”

  “Calm down!” she shouted. “Just calm down!” They stared at each other for a moment, breathing heavily. She tried to come up with something, anything, that might work in her favor. “What about the campaign, though, huh? Some reporter asks him about how he’ll protect the state from another oil bust, and he won’t know what to say.”

  “You’re not listening!” Jeremy grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, and she let him, feeling like she deserved it somehow. “Nobody follows state elections. Most people hear Texas Railroad Commissioner and think what you thought, that it’s a job about railroads. It’s the most dangerous misnomer in the state. Maybe even in the country, outside of Best Buy. Or Burger King. Or Old Navy.” He stopped the shaking abruptly, staring vacantly over her shoulder and out the window that overlooked downtown. “Imagine this. People go to the voting booths, having learned nothing about any of the candidates, as people are wont to do. They see the word railroad, and only recognize Jimmy’s name, which he’s made sure is synonymous with the image of a young boy of good-ol’-days America riding a boxcar into the great unknown like some nineteen-eighties-Spielberg-coming-of-age porn. Then below his name, maybe there’s someone named Carolyn Gaylord. You gonna put your money on Carolyn Gaylord winning that race?”

  That was a no-brainer. “Fuuuuuck.” Jessica plopped down onto the couch. “You’re right. Jimmy’s going to win. Jimmy’s going to become the most po
werful politician in Texas.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  She was down to her last handful of pennies. Since she refused to touch the two hundred grand in the bank and couldn’t use a credit card to buy lotto tickets (which was fine, since she’d quit that cold turkey and resolved not to relapse) her options were to either call Wendy for more, like she usually did, or earn the money herself.

  She would go with the latter, assuming her job application would be approved in a timely manner.

  First things first, though. She had to submit the application.

  After tossing a few pennies to Earle, who immediately called her cheap, she paused and looked down where he sat on a ratty plaid blanket on the chilly cement. “I don’t disagree. But is that the only reason why you hate me? You really do seem to hate me.”

  He pouted his lips and shook his head sharply. “Nah. I don’t hate you.”

  “Then why do you act like it?”

  He leaned away from her cautiously. “I dunno. Because giving someone pennies seems like an empty gesture? Or maybe because I do a lot of drugs.”

  “Are you high right now?”

  “Psh. Of course. Wouldn’t you be if we switched places?”

  She looked up and down the dirty downtown street. It was mostly vacant except for a homeless woman camped a little farther down and a spattering of sleekly dressed professionals either chatting on their phones as they passed or pretending to chat on their phones as they passed so they didn’t have to engage with the homeless. “Yeah, probably so. How do you afford the drugs?”

  “Not with pennies, that’s for damn sure.” He glared at her.

  “At least I give you something. I don’t even have to do that,” she reminded him … and herself.

  “Oh sure. And I suppose you think I should just get up and go get myself a job, right?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, yes.”

  “Too bad,” said Earle. “I can’t.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m a felon.”

  “From what?”

  “My last job.”

  She made a T with flat palms. “Time out. What was your last job?”