Nu Alpha Omega

by H. Claire Taylor

  She stopped in her tracks when her own gaze landed on Chris. She could recognize him from behind with her eyes closed, even if that didn’t make any actual sense. He was wearing the same Under Armour jacket he always did as he sat on the wall just past Flowers Hall, facing away from Jessica and toward a done-up Latina Jessica had never seen before. The two of them were a mere foot or so apart, and while Jessica couldn’t see Chris’s face, she could see the enthusiasm on the girl’s face as she regaled him with a story that probably involved putting on makeup or working out or how hard her life was being as gorgeous as she was.

  Get away from him! We’re not broken up! We’re just on break!

  “Repent and turn away from the sins of thy mother, Jessica Christ!”

  The Latina laughed and leaned forward, putting a hand on Chris’s shoulder, and that was it.

  Jessica needed to smite. The urge was so pronounced, so obvious that she didn’t even question the fact that needing to smite, or rather the ability to smite, implied that maybe she was more than human.

  Not only did she need to smite, but she needed to smite a person. Even as warning klaxons sounded in her mind, she recognized the newness of this impulse to smite a human being.

  Her eyes darted around for who would be the unfortunate scapegoat. She’d only felt like this once before, and it was when she’d eaten bad chili in a Frito Pie right before getting in the car with her mother for one of their few trips out to El Paso to visit Grandma McCloud. The poisoning had set in somewhere on I-10 between Nowhere and Still Nowhere, and she’d felt an equal mix of desperation, urgency, and doom to the one she felt now.

  But then she spotted him. Maybe he would do. The decision came not a moment too soon, and she flung her arms in his direction, hoping it might help focus the smite and spare any innocents. It worked.

  The lightning bolt, though, was definitely new. New and satisfying, if she were being honest. Once the flash of light was gone, all that remained where former president Johnson had stood was a pile of ash that slowly trickled off the statue’s base.

  A cacophony of surprised screams immediately followed the lightning, but once people saw the result of the strike, a deathly silence seems to break out from the statue in a shockwave. Had the Quad ever been so silent? Even the White Light congregation was speechless.

  Jessica took a step back from ground zero and in doing so, in being the only one moving, all eyes seemed to attach themselves to her. She looked around slowly, and the first expression she locked onto was Chris’s. He was homed into her. She couldn’t read him, though. His mouth was open slightly, one eyebrow furrowed, the other arched. Was he angry? Scared? What was that? It was something she’d never seen in him.

  She backed away farther, and her eyes landed on Professor Stewart. His cigarette hung loosely between his fingers as his arms dangled by his side and jaw remained shut and locked. He glanced at her and then slowly nodded, an approving smile creeping onto his lips. He lifted the hand that was free of his cigarette and gave her a thumbs up as he continued to nod.

  Murmuring began to seep through the silence, and time resumed. Suddenly a hand was on her shoulder, and she jerked free of the grasp, thinking it was someone from White Light who had finally broken their unspoken rule of look, judge, and shout, but don’t touch.

  But the person behind her wasn’t dressed in white. He was dressed in Under Armour. Their eyes met, and he pulled her into his chest.

  She didn’t resist.

  But when he spoke into her ear, “At least it’s obvious you’re not a schizo, now,” she wedged her arms between them and pushed him away. Was he really going to bring that up now? Damn him for exploiting this to prove her wrong!

  “This doesn’t change anything.” Her arms still tingled slightly from focusing the smite through them. Her brain felt foggy, and her entire focus turned to getting some goddamn coffee from those goddamn honors students!

  The contentment drained from his face and he chuffed as he stepped back. “You gotta be kidding me. This changes nothing? What has to happen before you stop denying the truth?”

  “Now you sound like one of them.” She nodded at her dumbstruck entourage, whose poster board signs hung limply by their sides.

  “You know what?” Chris’s nostrils flared. “Maybe I’m okay with that. Because at least they believe in you.”

  Was he seriously aligning himself with White Light Church right now, after all it had done to her? “You gotta be shitting me! They believe in me for all the wrong reasons, Chris. And maybe you do, too.” She searched her mostly empty box of counseling tools and pulled out whatever sharp object might be used as a weapon. “You ever considered that maybe you believe in me because you need to, rather than because it’s true? Ever heard of a little thing called projection?”

  She pursed her lips like she’d won until she realized there was a good chance Chris hadn’t understood anything she’d just said.

  “You’ll see,” he said, backing away. He pointed at her. “I’ll make you believe. Somehow.” He turned and hurried off, and Jessica tried to appreciate the fact that the beautiful girl he’d been talking to wasn’t heading off with him. That counted as a victory.

  She turned and headed determinedly away from all the gawking eyes, leading the White Light parade up the hill toward shitty but well-deserved coffee.

  Jessica’s mind felt like mush. She handed her blue book to Ms. Gershwin and stumbled out of the large classroom and into the hallway, where the stress and fear was palpable among those sitting against the walls, notes in hand.

  At least it was over and she was pretty sure she had done okay. The essay on dichotomy was a slow pitch, considering she’d lived her life that way for the past two months, believing two realities that were directly at odds with one another. She’d learned to accept that she could smite and that it was some sort of superpower while also accepting that the voice in her head was definitely not God. It couldn’t be. She was crazy. She was a crazy smiting machine. The center wouldn’t hold on that personal identity—she knew that on a fundamental level—but it worked for now, and hopefully it would work until finals were over and she could return home for the summer to decompress and actually spend some quality in-person time with her best friend, which was the only thing she actually wanted to do lately.

  She pulled out her cell phone as she hit the double doors. It was only the beginning of May and already she could hardly stand the heat. She slipped on her sunglasses and checked her messages. One from Miranda simply said, How’d it go?

  Jessica sighed, tried to avoid looking at the empty granite block that had once held a former president’s likeness but was now wearing a caution tape toga, and called Miranda on her way over to the student center for some much-needed waffle fries.

  “I bet you aced it, huh?” Miranda said in lieu of a hello.

  “Probably not, but I might still get an A in the class anyway.”

  “That’s awesome, Jess! I’m not going to lie, you’ve had a shit semester, so if you even get a B in any of your classes, that’s pretty impressive.”

  Jessica paused in the shade of the language arts building. “I guess. I’m sure you’re getting all A’s, aren’t you?”

  “Psh. I’ve had an easy semester, though.”

  What must that be like? An easy … anything?

  “Have you talked to Chris lately?” Jessica asked.

  “Nuh-uh. You?”

  Jessica felt the familiar muscle fatigue set in like it always did when she thought about him. “No.”

  Miranda’s voice was soft when she spoke next. “A month and a half is a long time to be on break, Jessica. Are you sure you don’t want to just end things?”

  “I just wish he’d even entertain the idea that maybe I’m not God’s daughter. That’s all I want. If he’d just say there’s a one-percent chance I’m certifiably insane, I would get back together with him at this point. But he won’t even give me that.”

  Miranda sounded hesitant.
“I have to be honest, Jess. I still don’t fully understand why you want him to admit that you might be a lunatic. Sorry.”

  Jessica sighed. “It’s like he thinks he knows me better than I know me.”

  “Maybe he does. I mean, if anyone does, it’s him.”

  “I guess. And you’re right. This is a long time to be on break.” She paused in the shade of the liberal arts building. “But I still love him.”

  “I know. But this seems a little like torture.”

  Jessica laughed. “That’s because it is. It’s what I deserve, though.”

  Silence. Then, “But is it what he deserves?”

  “He can officially break up with me whenever he wants. Why is it my job?”

  “It’s your job because we both know Chris would rather saw off his throwing arm without anesthesia than break up with Jessica McCloud.”

  A loud baritone voice by the stallions statue caught her attention when it shouted, “Pig fucker!”

  “What the hell?” she said without thinking.

  “What?” Miranda asked. “What’s what the hell?”

  The sound of oinking triggered just the right amount of PTSD for Jessica’s mind to start spinning a narrative out of the chaos around the statues.

  “Hey, I gotta go,” she said. “I’ll call you later. Tell Quentin I said hi.”

  She ended the call and slowly stood, her eyes glued to the crowd.

  The members of White Light had stopped following her around after the very public smiting, but when she carefully inspected the crowd, she spotted the telltale white wardrobe through the spaces between irate student bodies. She approached cautiously. If what she suspected was taking place was true, then she should head in the opposite direction.

  Who exactly was leading the screaming match, though? That was the question. Usually she could see whoever was standing on the statues at least a head above the crowd, but no one seemed to be there.

  Was it a child? Would White Light Church send a child out to the free speech area to antagonize a bunch of tightly wound college students during finals? That seemed like too much, even for White Light.

  “Go home, pigfuckers!” screamed a girl this time, as Jessica reached the edge of the crowd. The boy and girl in front of her must have felt Jessica’s presence, because they turned to see who was behind them. The boy’s eyes shot open wide. The girl jumped back. A ripple effect moved ahead of them, and before Jessica could sneak away—not that she would with her curiosity piqued as it was—the crowd had parted, and she saw who it was at the center of the circle, sitting casually with his legs crossed under him like he might be leading a group meditation rather that stirring a hate pot.

  Just below the oversized testicles of one of the stallions sat Jimmy Dean.

  He smiled brightly. “Jessica! I knew Deus Aper would guide you to me if I waited here long enough.” He jumped up onto his feet and cut through the parted crowd toward her. Jessica realized the angry mob was silent, and it was perhaps the most terrifying realization she’d had all week. Anything that could quiet an angry mob was more powerful than she cared to deal with.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Jimmy?”

  He reached her and set a relaxed but firm hand on her shoulder in a you-don’t-have-a-choice kind of way, turning her to walk with him without ever breaking his stride. “Talk with me, child.”

  “I’m not a child,” she insisted, walking next to him.

  “Yes, you are.”

  Jessica wondered how much of the mob was following her, and when she looked back over her shoulder, the found the answer: zero. Jimmy’s gang in white had created a human barrier, herding people in the opposite direction.

  “Where are we going?” she asked before realizing it didn’t matter. They were heading back toward the center of the Quad. She jerked her shoulder to get his hand off of it, but he managed to remove his hand in such a way that it seemed his choice to break contact, not hers.

  Man, she hated this guy. “So you have my attention. What do you want?”

  “Tsk, tsk … Your suspicion stings, Jessica.”

  “Please, please drop the act, Jimmy. This Church Jimmy thing makes my stomach churn. Just be Ice Cream Jimmy.”

  He nodded like he understood. “You’re a smart girl. But it’s not an act. It’s my higher being. But sure, I’ll come down to the level of the common man if he helps you hear my message.”

  He even found ways to do what she asked that made her want to punch him.

  Before many more steps, it became obvious where Jimmy was leading her, and she set her jaw as glimpses of the caution tape became visible between passing students ahead of them.

  When they arrived at ground zero, Jimmy stopped, staring down at it. “I understand you’re struggling with your beliefs, Jessica.”

  “I wouldn’t call it struggling.”

  Struggling was exactly the word she would use. But not to Jimmy.

  “We all stray away from God sometimes, but not so many of us are blessed to have the gifts you have.” He turned his body toward her and she glanced over at him, if for no other reason than to stop looking at the statue base. “Not everyone gets to have the signs straight from Him that you do. And yet, you still doubt?”

  He gestured with a sweep of his arm toward the rubble. She kept her eyes on him. His argument was calling to the part of her that maybe accepted that she had a few gifts, but the part of her that was certain she was crazy was in the mood for a fight. “Of course I doubt. I’m not an idiot. Anyone who genuinely thinks they can harness lightning to smite is someone I don’t care to be around. That shit’s crazy, Jimmy. Even you have to admit.”

  He shook his head determinedly. “I will not admit. I have nothing to admit. Multiple accounts not only from those of my congregation who were present but also your fellow students corroborate the story. You were angry, you aimed your arms at the statue and that instant, lightning came down from the clear blue heavens and smote President Johnson where he stood. You made believers out of a lot of people that day.”

  “I don’t want to make believers out of people!” she insisted.

  “Then maybe next time you decide to protest the Vietnam War, don’t be so public about it. The point is that you did something that made believers out of non-believers, and this is without them even knowing all the other things you’ve done, let alone your direct line to God. And yet you still haven’t convinced yourself? You understand this doesn’t make sense, right?”

  “Why do you even care?”

  He hunched over slightly—an Ice Cream Jimmy gesture for sure, since she’d never seen Church Jimmy with anything but a rigid spine (the only exception being when his spine, along with the rest of his body, was flopped on the floor during his fake death charade)—and leaned close, pointing down at his white suit. “Isn’t it obvious? I can’t spread our message if you’re not on board. And if I can’t spread our message, then none of this”—he grabbed his red stole and dangled the pig hoof at the end of it only a few inches in front of Jessica’s face—“matters. None of it.”

  She moved back from the who-knew-how-old hoof. “So you care about this because you want to save your image.”

  He chuckled, regaining his aloofness. “No, no, sweet Jessica. I need you to believe because of everyone who’s ever believed in you. Do I fall into that group? Of course. But so do other people. Many other people. People who you might care about. Maybe even people you love. Do you even have a friend who hasn’t stuck their neck out for you in one major way or another? Denying who you are is to condemn those who defend you to the social gallows.”

  Shitballs. He had a point. “But if I’m not the daughter of God, then wouldn’t continuing to lie to everyone be even worse?”

  Jimmy grinned amusedly. “Well, sure. That’s a good point. So why don’t you practice on me? Tell me you’re not the daughter of God.”

  She tilted her head and pressed her lips together obstinately.

  “Oh come on, Jessica!
You don’t even have to say it loudly if you don’t want those around us to hear. Just whisper it and I’ll leave you alone.”

  If ever there were incentive … “Fine. I’m not the daughter of Gahhh—” Crap.

  “Hmmm?” he asked smugly.

  She swallowed. This was just a weird brain thing, like stuttering or Tourettes. If she focused enough on it, she could power through. “I’m not the daughter of Gaaaawain.”

  Jimmy chuckled. “What’s that? Sir Gawain? You’re not the daughter of Sir Gawain?”

  “Not the daughter of Golllly. Shitballs!" Okay, so maybe if she tried the opposite and focused on something else. She thought about a nature show she’d watched on her phone during her week in bed. If a kangaroo fighting a croc didn’t put her mind at ease, nothing would. “I’m not God’s doodoo. Oh come on!”

  Jimmy leaned back and crossed his arms, waiting patiently with a smug grin for her to give up.

  Okay, maybe if she sang it. She’d read that helped with stutterers sometimes. Maybe it was the phrasing, too. “God is not my daaaba-do—fuck!”

  “Hm … can’t verbally deny God? That’s a strange side effect for someone who isn’t, I dunno, a messiah.”

  “It’s a brain thing!”

  Jimmy nodded. “Sure, sure. A brain thing. And who do you think created that brain of yours?”

  She sighed. “Is there any other way I can get you to leave me alone?”

  “Well, of course! Get back on the bandwagon. Pull it together and knock it off with this existential nightmare. Then everything will be right as rain and the people you love can know their sacrifice wasn’t all for naught.”

  “If I say I’ll consider it, will you leave?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Sure. But if I hear about you relapsing, I’ll be back here immediately. Midland pretty much runs itself, anyway. Benefit of being mayor of such a politically homogenous town.”

  “Great.” She would just have to make sure Jimmy never found out that she still wasn’t going headfirst into the idea of being God’s daughter. And once the student housing folks finally got their heads out of their own lazy asses and moved Leslie to a different room, that would be easy enough. “By the way, Leslie won’t be feeding you any more information, so you’ll just have to find another anonymous source.”