Page 30 of Jacob Michaels is Dead

“Well, I wish I could say I had your same confidence.” Carlita chuckled. “Now go. Please.”

Jackson nodded once, and then he was sprinting towards his hardware store as fast as his legs allowed. Carlita sighed as she watched him go, knowing she would never see the man again.

“Baby,” Carlita turned to Andrew, “it’s your time to shine.”

“Right.” Andrew didn’t look at her.

His eyes were on the wolves at the other end of the street.

“Don’t let me down,” Carlita stated as she raised her hand towards the crack once more.

As magic poured forth in a column from Carlita’s hand towards the growing crevice, and the ground shook underfoot, Andrew fell to all fours. A ripple of magic coursed through the air, and Andrew’s body started to shift. The wolves at the end of the street leaned their heads back, fangs still showing as they howled up at the moon. The flames from The Sunny Side-Up Care shot into the air, roaring with fury as Andrew’s skin violently split, sending fluids and sinew flying as he spontaneously turned. Carlita ignored the splatter of liquid against her side as she focused on the crack in the street.

Then two wolves charged west. Another wolf charged east to meet them.

The ground shook.

A low cackle carried on the wind.

“That’s what she said, Esther Jean.” Jackson Barkley’s voice was shaky over the static-y line.

Esther Jean stood in the kitchen, holding the large phone receiver to her ear. The only landline in the house had always hung just inside the kitchen next to the door that led to the cellar. Why Jackson Barkley hadn’t bothered calling her on her cellphone was beyond her, but Esther Jean knew the call was important, regardless of the method of delivery. Cell service was probably down anyway. At least in Point Worth. She slid one hand into the pocket of her bib overalls and leaned her shoulder against the wall as she stared out at nothing.

“Well, I guess you’d have no reason to lie to me.” She sighed into the receiver, wondering if the static would make it difficult for Jackson to understand her. “What’s goin’ on there?”

“Are you fuckin’ crazy, Esther Jean Wagner?” Jackson barked, though humor slipped into his tone. “Carlita’s doin’ all she can to keep this town from turnin’ into one big sinkhole and Andrew’s off fightin’ pack. And you want to know how we’re doin’? If my own long-departed wife rose from the grave, walked up in here, and took a shit on the check-out counter, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised. How’s that for how we’re doin’?”

“That’s about how I figured it was goin’.” Esther Jean sighed. “All right. Well, y’all keep doin’ the best you can. I got pots on every fire over here, too.”

“I’m sure you do,” Jackson grumbled in disbelief. “Probably sipping iced tea and waitin’ on the boys to show up.”

“Well, that’s my lot in life, ya’ old bastard.”

“I never did like you.”

“Well,” Esther Jean waggled her head, though there was no one to see it anymore, “you didn’t have trouble liking me a few times after Betty Lynn died to get away from ya’.”

Even with everything happening on Main Street, Jackson Barkley’s laughter carried across the line to the receiver in her hand.

“I’ll miss the good times, that’s for sure.” Jackson sniffed. “Esther Jean?”

“What, bastard?”

“Tell my grandson I love him. Might not get a chance myself.”

“I’ll do it. Twice.” Esther Jean nodded firmly. “Tell Carlita, if you get the chance, that I’ll make sure she didn’t fight for nothin’. Ya’ hear me?”

“All right,” Jackson answered. “And Esther Jean?”

“Yeah?” She barked, feigning annoyance.

But the line went dead.

The ground beneath the house rumbled gently, if “gentle” was ever a way to describe the movement from below. Sighing to herself, Esther Jean returned the receiver to its cradle smoothly. Just as quickly as it had started, the rumbling beneath the house stopped. She wanted to believe that maybe a miracle had occurred, but she knew better. It wouldn’t be long before the ground was shaking again. When it did, it would be a shake to end all shakes. Esther Jean shuffled over wearily, her arms and legs feeling like lead, and grabbed her glass of tea off of the kitchen table. She looked around the kitchen one last time, then exited the kitchen, making her way to the front door.

When she exited the house, she didn’t bother shutting the door behind herself. Anything that would want in the house would have no trouble finding its way in, closed doors and windows be damned. There was no protecting herself or her home any longer, so why bother pretending otherwise? Esther Jean shuffled out onto the porch, her legs pulling downwards, as if trying to send her into the Earth. She ignored the sensation, having felt it dozens, if not hundreds of times over the years—just never this strongly. Instead, she shuffled over to a chair and eased herself down.

Bringing the glass of tea to her lips, she took a sip. Licking her lips, she lowered the glass to the arm of the chair, cradling it in her hand there.