“Stephanie,” Dolores said sweetly, “I had no idea. I never—”
The shotgun blast took the Devil off her feet, and she didn’t move again once she landed in the grass.
The party fell silent again except for the TV announcers and a distant squeal from a satiated Aper.
Destinee was the one to break it. Her voice came out hoarse. “She … had a gun. Dolores was reachin’ for a gun! Y’all seen it, right?”
“No,” said Jesus. “I didn’t see any such thing.”
Rex barked at Jeremy, “Get him out of here. Now. Don’t let him talk to any cops.”
Jeremy gasped, offended. “I would never let him do that.” Then he rushed over and scooped up his roommate, whisking him away into the house.
“Holy boomerang,” Jessica breathed, staring at Satan’s unmoving body.
Destinee turned to the rest of the partygoers. “Anyone else not see her reach for a gun?”
Heads shook en masse.
Destinee was really getting excited now. Her pupils were large, her nostrils flared wide. Not scared, but in her element. “Don’t forget, that bitch was the Devil. The literal Devil. She had it comin’.”
“Sh-shouldn’t we make sure she’s dead before we just …?” Miranda’s shaky voice faltered.
“Good thinkin’,” Destinee agreed.
The shotgun hung loosely from Stephanie Lee’s hands. “Here, hun,” Destinee said, gently disarming her. “I’ll take that.”
Destinee McCloud marched over to the Devil and fired a shot right between her eyes. “There. I’m sure she’s dead now.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
26 AGC
Jessica met with Jimmy Dean in the library. It was just the two of them, if she didn’t count the prison guard.
He looked up from his reading, and she felt a useless twinge of pity for him. His dyed gray hair was naturally gray now, a darker, muddier shade than when he’d gotten it professionally done—was that already two years ago now?
In that time, his strong cheekbones had become hollow trenches, and when he looked up at her, the clear blue eyes were faded like a polluted lake. The only thing that remained the same about his appearance was that he still wore all white. Only now it was the fashion of the Texas Correctional Institutions.
“You came,” were the first words out of his mouth, and she immediately questioned her decision to visit him.
“Don’t act like you prophesied it, Jimmy. If ever there was a time for you to cut the bullshit, it’s now. You’ve lost. No one is going to follow you to the end of the world. You’ve been found out.”
He shut the book in front of him, and she saw the word “Siddhartha” across the cover.
“Jesus. Don’t tell me you’re planning to hijack another religion.”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he merely gestured to the bench across the table from him, the seat she was going to take anyway. It was the only seat around. She wasn’t following his orders.
She glared at him across the table, wondering how to even start. She knew what she’d come to say, but did she just dive right in?
Deep creases formed around his eyes as he smiled at her. “You look like a real woman now, Jessica.”
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“How do you make sure that everything you say is creepy, sleazy, or insulting?”
He chuckled, an Ice Cream Jimmy-like sound, harsh, scratchy, and leaned back in his chair. “It’s easy when the person I’m speaking with is perpetually insecure and guarded.”
“There you go again. How’s Emily?”
It was a cheap shot, she knew. That was why it was so fun. His fiancée had taken off once it was abundantly clear that Jimmy had planned to pull another Judgment Day Irish goodbye on her. She’d become famous on daytime talk shows since.
Before he could load Jessica up with more bullshit, though, she said “Look, I didn’t come here to listen to what you have to say about anything. I came here to tell you something. And to give you something.”
Now he was listening.
“That night at White Light. The very last one. You told me I wouldn’t be what I was without you. That I never would have risen to the occasion without you challenging me.” Those words had haunted her for more sleepless nights than she cared to admit. “I came to tell you, you were right. I never would’ve claimed my own story if you and the Devil hadn’t kept trying to steal it.”
He narrowed his eyes skeptically. “I appreciate you admitting I was right, but it’s not necessary. I already knew that. But go back to the part about the Devil. It sounds like you spoke of her in the past tense. Has she stopped trying to steal your story?”
The coverup for Stephanie Lee had gone so smoothly, Jessica had long since stored the memory at the back of her mind with all the other disturbing moments that were not immediately relevant. “Oh, right. She’s dead. You haven’t heard?” It was clear from his shocked expression that he had not. “Yep. Blown away with a shotgun.” Leaving off who had done it was intentional. The word “shotgun” was so closely associated with her mother that she’d leave Jimmy to chew on the notion that Destinee had put a hole through the Devil the way she’d threatened to do to Jimmy on multiple occasions.
“She’ll be back,” Jimmy warned in low tones. “She won’t stay dead.”
“I know. But it’s been a nice couple of years without her. I’m not here to talk about her, though.”
“You’re here to tell me I was right all along.”
“Yes, that. You were right. But also …” She leaned across the table, locking eyes with him. She’d dreamed of this moment for months and months. “Fuck. You. Fuck you for everything you ever did to me.”
Before he could rebound from his mild shock, she set his gift on the table between them with a thump.
His eyes flickered down to the volume, giving it a quick exploratory pass before meeting her eyes again. She slid it over to him, and with a vague, bored, expression, he rotated the book around to read the cover properly. “After Girl Christ?” He smirked. “What’s this?”
“It’s my story, Jimmy. It’s done. All my own words and experiences collected in one place. The gospel according to the woman who fucking lived it, not some train-hopping narcissist from Alabama. My story.”
“It says it was written by Judith Magdalena right here on the cover.”
“She helped me,” Jessica spat. “She’s my scribe. But she got all the information straight from me.”
“Mm-hm …” His smirk widened.
She slapped the table. “God damn you, Jimmy!”
He gasped and clutched at his chest.
“No, I didn’t mean that. Don’t have a heart attack. You don’t get to die.” She glanced over her shoulder at the security guard who was busy staring wistfully out a small window at the cloudy, gray sky. When she returned her attention to Jimmy, he appeared to have recovered from the jolt but was still breathing heavily.
“Anyway,” she said, careful not to apologize to him, “that’s your copy. I thought you ought to know how wrong you are.”
His eyes flickered to the security guard, and then he cracked open the cover. But he didn’t linger on the first page. Instead, after sneaking another furtive look at the guard, he took the thick book into his hands and flipped rapidly through the pages until he reached the back cover. He glanced up at her in confusion. “It’s just a book.”
“It’s … of course it is.”
“You brought me a book?” He leaned forward urgently. “With no contraband inside?”
Her mouth fell open. Was he serious?
“Can’t you tell I have plenty of books? We’re in a library, for chrissakes! I don’t need another goddamn book!” He threw his hands into the air. “Who brings a fucking book to a prison? There’s not even a fucking bobby pin inside this thing! How the hell am I supposed to escape this place with a goddamn book!”
She leaned back and would have gotten up from th
e bench seat, but she didn’t want to take her eyes off him. She’d never seen this kind of rage in him before. He’d lost it. He’d completely lost it. “Why would I help you escape?” she asked.
“Because you’re nothing without me. You wouldn’t have amounted to more than a fat slut’s fat slut daughter if I hadn’t shown up at your birth and proclaimed you the child of God. You and your cheap lay of a mother would still be in that filthy double-wide, counting your bills from the day’s work on the corner. You’d never have left Mooretown, never have discovered any of your miracles, and never, never have founded a church if I hadn’t blazed the way for you. Now you have the audacity to come in here and tell me that I’ve been right all along, but then not do a single fucking thing to help me after all I’ve done for you? God damn you, Jessica McCloud! God damn you to hell!” Spittle had formed sticky pools at the corners of his mouth. “Your mother might be a slut, but you’re something even worse. You’re a tease. A worthless, meek, TEASE!”
He was on his feet as he flipped open the book and began tearing pages from the center of it, crumpling them in his fists before throwing them at her. “If God exists, He’s lost his mind sending a woman to do a man’s work!”
She caught her heel on the bench as she tried to back away and landed hard on her tailbone on the concrete floor right as the security guard managed to pin Jimmy’s wrists behind his back and slam the side of the prisoner’s face down on the metal table.
When she left, she didn’t look back. Her heart continued to race, and a loud hum like a tuning fork continued in her ears, even after she was safely in her car.
And then she began to cry—big, thick tears that felt like rebirth.
Chapter Fifty-Five
By the time the last animal expert left the dome of the McCloud-Archer Community Center, the sun had long-since fallen below the skylights. Once Jessica powered down the rest of the interior lighting, she would be able to see at least a few stars in the night sky.
The beautiful hand-sewn cushions she’d once laid around this space for her doomed idea of a church had long since been replaced by standard folding chairs where participants of the various educational programs and community discourses could gather round and learn. Tonight it had been wildlife education with a local rescue organization. There had been squirrels and snakes, coyotes, deer, and even a wild hog, and the place smelled like it.
She inhaled deeply, savoring the earthiness.
“And so it is that another day comes to an end, and the humans disperse to their own homes after a full afternoon of gathering and sharing their hard-earned wisdom,” Sir David Attenborough’s voice crooned in her mind. It was, by far, her favorite of the two voices she most often heard there.
She cherished her solitary moments here at night. It was the only place where she didn’t feel the least bit afraid to be alone in the dark. It wasn’t that she felt nothing could harm her here, only that she was fine if this was the last place she ever saw, and that brought her a sense of peace. She could, for once, let go and let God.
Where was She right now? Her Mother’s divine intervention had become much sparser in the last couple of years, and she often wondered if there had been an uptick in genocides on the other side of the globe, and She was needed there. Or, maybe, She trusted that Jessica had things under control on her end, and now She could finally give Original Mistake the kind of attention it needed.
Or maybe She was taking a little time off for Herself.
Jessica went to lock up her office but paused by another door that she knew to already be locked. It would remain locked until the right person arrived. Her half-sister. Would she be the peacemaker? Or would she just be the next in line to clear the way?
And would she arrive before Jessica died? Had she already been born? Should Jessica be out looking for her? God, on Her rare visits, wouldn’t say. So, for now, all she could do was hold this space for God’s second daughter and help pave the way as best she could.
As much as she often daydreamed about fading into obscurity whenever the Third Coming did arrive, she knew better. She would support her half-sister the way Jesus had supported her. When the next of the Christ family arrived, the real work would begin.
Her phone rang just as she slipped the key into her office lock.
“Sister.” Jesus sounded fabulously out of breath on the other line. “I have just learned of a festival where you can travel back in time!”
“Uh-huh?”
“Jeremy tells me there are all kinds of fantastic games and food at this event. And knights! He also informed me that you could wear a costume to obscure your identity so you can fully enjoy the celebrations without harassment. Would you like to join us next weekend?”
She double-checked her office door to make sure it was locked. “Assuming you’re talking about a renaissance festival and not a weird sex party, sure, I’m in.”
And as Jesus continued gushing about all the spectacular fun he was sure they would have while visiting an epoch he’d only been able to observe from Up There, she turned off the last of the lights, locked the front door behind her, and made for home.
Epilogue
33 AGC
Jessica McCloud startled awake from a deep sleep. Adrenaline surged through her arms and legs, and she felt like there was someone in the room watching her.
Because there was.
WAKE UP, BABY.
I’m awake.
The sandpaper sounds of light snoring from the warm body beside her did exponentially more to calm her racing pulse than the presence of God Herself.
Christopher Riley McCloud turned over in his sleep.
PUT ON SOME CLOTHES.
Don’t you try to shame me. I get to be naked in my own bed with my husband. That was the deal.
I AM NOT SHAMING YOU FOR THE TEPID SEX YOU ENJOY ONCE EVERY OTHER WEEK. I AM MERELY TELLING YOU THAT YOU NEED TO PUT ON CLOTHES.
Why? She looked over at the clock. Just after one in the morning.
BECAUSE IT IS ILLEGAL TO DRIVE NAKED.
Jessica struggled to connect the two disparate concepts of nakedness and driving while her body was still so ready to sprint and her brain felt like a lead weight.
What should I wear?
Even she wasn’t sure why that was the question she’d come up with.
YOUR SUNDAY BEST. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU WEAR. JUST COVER YOUR NAKEDNESS TO THE MINIMUM REQUIRED BY LAW AND RISE FROM YOUR BED.
Is there an emergency? Is everything okay? Oh no, is my mom—
YOUR MOTHER IS FINE. BUT THERE IS AN EMERGENCY.
The fog of her brain cleared as she pushed her palms into her eye sockets and she flung her legs over the side of the bed.
THERE IS A MESSAGE I NEED YOU TO PERSONALLY DELIVER TO A WOMAN. BUT IT’S GOING TO BE A LONG DRIVE. YOU NEED TO LEAVE RIGHT AWAY.
And now Jessica understood what she was being asked to do. Another wave of adrenaline surged through her.
Now? Today?
NOT TODAY. IT IS A LONG DRIVE. YOU WILL ARRIVE ON THE DAWN OF THE THIRD DAY.
Jessica rolled her eyes. Always with the fucking theatrics. Can’t I catch a flight instead?
There was no answer. Fine. She knew what came next, anyway.
Her work, the real reason she was put on this earth, was only just beginning.
* * *
THE END
Keep reading for a final word from the author…
Author’s Note
Back in late 2018, when I set out creating the ultimate book of this series, I just had this feeling, call it female intuition if you must, that we would be ovaries deep in a pandemic when I released The End is Her. And I also suspected that such conditions would be the perfect landscape for a powerful anti-racism conversation to finally take root in mainstream discourse.
“Really, Claire?”
No, of course not. Not a clue about any of it. I thought the big upheaval of 2020 would take place on November 3rd, not over the course
of the whole fucking year.
Anyway, I won’t wax philosophical here because I just said what I wanted to say in the story.
However, one thing I’m sure you folks will (understandably) ask me through email and social media is this:
Will there be any more Jessica Christ books?
The answer is a resounding no. But, my goddess, am I going to miss these characters! Destinee and God, Chris and Rex, Judith and Jameson, Jesus and Jeremy—even Jimmy!—and, of course, Jessica.
(Will I ever start another character’s name with a J? I would rather die.)
The year of 33 After Girl Christ is the end of the line for Jessica’s narrative. It’s time for her to stop being the center of attention and instead step out of the spotlight so another messiah can step in. Jessica must become a supporting character.
The Third Coming isn’t my story to write. But it’s my great hope that someone will. Someone who has the lived experience of Jessica’s half-sister, like I had the lived experience of being a young, straight, white girl growing up in Texas. I don’t know when or if this wish of mine will ever happen, but I’m holding space for that person to show up and say, “Hey, I want in on this intellectual property because I know how to tell this one.” And if that day comes, I’ll do what I can to support her as she makes us laugh our asses off. And if it doesn’t come, no big deal. I’m here to amplify, not dictate.
So, thanks for coming along for the wild ride. Jessica Christ is a series that, by all accounts, shouldn’t have made it this far. Suffice to say not everyone in my life when I started publishing it was super thrilled with the premise. Writing this series has caused me grief, anxiety, insomnia, depression, migraines, indigestion, a complete mental breakdown or two, and has been, far and away, my most rewarding creative project to date. Although I’m still young. I turn 33 in November.
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