Chapter 28

Isaac arrived at Anne’s exhausted. Between the omnipresent traffic and trying to lose any potential tails that could have followed him from the Twin Towers, it took him twice as long to get to Venice as it should have. Still, Isaac didn’t want to take any chances, not when he was so close to cracking the case, not when he had received a telepathic message from a magical cat named Captain Flapjacks, and not when he knew his psychic had all the answers.

It didn’t help Isaac’s paranoia that Super Jesus’s eyes followed him from every billboard and bus stop advertisement he passed. There was no escaping his presence. Only when Isaac safely arrived at Anne’s did he breathe a sigh of relief, finally finding a moment’s comfort in the fact his adventure should end where it all began, in a little bungalow by the beach.

“If I weren’t such a good psychic, I would be getting annoyed by all these walk-in appointments you insist on making,” was how Anne greeted Isaac at the door. He did not have to ring the bell.

“You have some explaining to do!” he informed Anne, brushing past her to march into her office.

“Do I now?” she teased.

“Who are you exactly? Do you have your credentials prepared for my inspection? Because I have it on good authority that you’re no regular psychic.”

“What makes you say that?” Anne smiled knowingly. “Who let that cat out of the bag?”

“Captain Flapjacks,” Isaac said. “He showed me what you did to Zee.”

“Oh!”

“Oh? Quit stalling. You’ve had your fun, your games, and your diversionary tactics, but now it’s time to spill your secrets!”

“Well, what do you say? Where are your manners?”

“Please?”

“Please, what?”

“Please tell me your secrets?”

“Thank you! All you had to do was ask nicely.” Anne sighed, “You may want to sit down for this one.” She indicated the chair on the client’s side of the room, which Isaac took gratefully.

Despite the showman’s build-up from Anne and the implied drum-roll before her revelation, Isaac looked around the room, distracted and alarmed.

“Where are they?” Isaac asked, referring to the cats that usually surrounded Anne and draped themselves all over the room like Dali’s clocks.

“Them?” Anne wondered, “They’re busy at the moment.”

“Doing what?” Isaac demanded. A chill went down his spine, taking the cats’ absence to be an ominous sign.

“I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me, but they should be back soon. Or not. Who can read a cat’s mind?”

“Crafty bastards.” He bit his lip.

“I tried to warn you about that.”

“That’s right, you did.” Isaac narrowed his eyes, getting back to business, “And who are you again?”

“I’m Anne Jacobdaughter.”

“…”

“Jesus Christ’s sister.”

“???”

“I assume you’re familiar with Jesus Christ?”

“Super or regular?”

“Regular.”

“More or less.”

“Good. That’ll save us some time. Well, I’m His younger sister.”

“Like the Jesus who died on the cross a million years ago?” Isaac asked in continued bafflement.

“Yes, of course. I’m the last scion of Jesus Christ, which is a funny story because I’m also the first scion of Jesus Christ.”

Unsure of how to react to the news that his psychic was the sister of Jesus Christ, Isaac laughed. “Jesus never had a sister,” Isaac explained patiently. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he counted them off on his fingers, one by one, until he reached three. “That’s it. That’s the family. That’s the expression. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he repeated in the manner of a white guy who just stubbed his toe.

Anne laughed at Isaac. “That’s a common misconception, like how people say ‘for all intensive purposes’ instead of ‘for all intents and purposes,’ or ‘eggcorn’ instead of ‘acorn.’”

“No one says ‘eggcorn’ instead of ‘acorn,’” Isaac challenged.

“You’d be surprised. Anyway, what people should say instead of ‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph’ is ‘Jesus, Mary, Anne, Joseph,’ but you know how these things go over time, typical women erasure. The patriarchy. Et cetera, et cetera.”

“Jesus, Mary, Anne, Joseph,” Isaac repeated, trying out the phrase for himself and discovering that it came naturally to him, rolling off his tongue. “The patriarchy,” Isaac agreed. “So God had two kids?”

“Jesus and I are half-siblings, actually,” Anne corrected with mild exasperation. “I don’t get it. Did everyone think papa Jo was shooting blanks this whole time?”

“I sort of figured that Mary remained a virgin,” Isaac shrugged. “She’s called the Virgin Mary, after all.”

“You’re kidding,” Anne looked dumbfounded. “If that were true, then dad would have been the true ascetic spiritual superstar of the family. Of course, my dad fucks. He’s my dad.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, when a man loves a woman who has begotten God’s only son….”

“No, no. Spare me the ins-and-outs. What I don’t understand is that you’re 2,000 years old?”

“Not exactly. I’m more along the lines of 2,000 years young.”

Isaac rolled his eyes, and once again they got caught on Anne’s wall of fame. There Anne was, pictured with the then-young stars of old Hollywood, luminaries such as Garbo, Chaplin, and Rin Tin Tin. Eerily, Anne looked no different in those photos than the ones she took decades later with Tupac and Margot Robbie. Anne was an angel this whole time. It was yet another mystery solved by Isaac, but he still couldn’t believe it. After all, there was one loose end that refused to tie. “But you’re Black,” blurted out Isaac.

“That’s true,” she conceded.

“So…so Jesus was black? Excuse me. I mean African American. ”

“Well, not American,but you’re on the right track.”

“Mary too?”

“The blackberry doesn’t usually fall too far from the bush.”

“Huh,” Isaac paused, “We should probably get the word out about that.”

“I’ve tried, but people haven’t been too open to the idea.”

“And now everyone thinks Jesus is Mexican,” Isaac chuckled.

“Isn’t that some shit? But better than white, which makes no sense at all. Seems pretty obvious to me that a fair-skinned person wouldn’t fare so well wandering the desert for 40 days and nights, but what do I know?”

Isaac was too busy processing this news to answer her rhetorical questions, answering her instead by saying, “Prove it.”

“Well, melanin acts as a natural sunblock.”

“No. Prove to me you’re the sister of Jesus Christ.”

“Honey, honey, honey. No.” Anne laughed.

“No, you won’t? Or no, you can’t?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I’m not your trained monkey.”

Isaac stared her down but relented. This would be his leap of faith. He’d have to accept that Anne was Jesus Christ’s sister. “So Christianity is real? That’s the world’s true religion?”

“Yes and no,” Anne laughed. “It’s a bit more nuanced than that. Some religions are just more true than others.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Jesus’s sister?”

“You never asked,” she said simply. “Plus, you still had a baby brain.”

“A baby, what?”

“Brain. You had a baby brain. It’s not the scientific name, exactly, but it’ll do for the intents and purposes of this conversation.”

“So I don’t have a baby brain anymore?” Isaac touched his head to see if he could feel the maturity of his brain. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but the baby-like soft spot in the back of his head from getting knocked out in the K-town apartment remained.

“No,” Anne sighed again. “Remember our conversation about Schrodinger’s cat? About how a human or cat observer can affect the particles around them by simply imparting some level of attention and consciousness to them?”

“Sure.”

“Well, consciousness is like a muscle. You have to work to expand it and control it. It’s a very delicate balance. You would never have believed me if I had told you who I really was when we first met. Your mind would have melted.”

“Literally?”

“Literally,” she confirmed, “I’ve seen it before. You’d think your brain would leak out your ears, but you’d be wrong. It comes out right through your nose, just like how the Egyptians would have wanted. You’re protected from brain melt now, though, because a journey such as the one you’ve undertaken can awaken, alter, and elevate your consciousness. No more baby brain. You are now receptive to such ideas as meeting the sister of Jesus Christ.”

“…”

“It’s psychological conditioning, Isaac,” Anne explained, and Isaac knew what she had said was true. The prospect of meeting Jesus’s sister seemed absurd on its face, but in the context of Cat Power and lizardmen, it was a comparably run-of-the-mill revelation, maybe even a step backward in terms of its strangeness factor. And the discovery of lizardmen seemed like a natural progression after witnessing a ritual killing.

But what would come next? Isaac trembled at the thought of where the escalation of these supernatural events would end. By definition, whatever was coming would exceed the limits of his current imagination, and his current imagination could conjure up some truly bizarre shit.

“The uninitiated have no idea,” Anne continued, “but those in the know know that the universe revolves around consciousness. It’s the fifth element.”

“The fifth element? Out of earth, water, air, and fire?”

“Yes, those are the O.G. names for them, but we updated them post-enlightenment to gravity, nuclear, strong and weak, and electromagnetic. They’re considered forces now, however, not elements.”

“Which one’s earth in this scenario?”

“Gravity.”

“And air?”

“It doesn’t matter, Isaac. Focus.”

“I bet air is electromagnetic, isn’t it?”

“Gah!” Anne cried out in exasperation. “That’s not the point.”

“What’s the point?”

“That consciousness is the most valuable resource in the universe! Not only is it far stronger than any of the other four elements, but it also binds them all together, so everything around us is oriented around consciousness, both physics and psychics alike. Even Cat Power.”

“Uh, can you explain it to me like I still have a baby brain?”

“The force from Star Wars is real.”

“Really?”

“The principles are the same, but the key difference is that the force isn’t some omnipotent force that flows through people. In reality — well, in this reality, anyhow — the force flows from people. Get it?”

“So, when you said the lizards kill people to survive, they’re not just eating the people, are they? They’re eating their force, right?”

“Aww, it’s so precious to watch your brain mature in real time,” Anne’s excitement was genuine.

Isaac prayed that Anne’s evaluation of his consciousness’s maturity was correct because it certainly felt like his brain was liquefying. He had to close his eyes to shut out the pain as the remaining calcified fluoride around his pineal gland broke down. The process was beyond excruciating. To play it safe, Isaac plugged his nostrils with his index fingers.

Anne had to come to the rescue. “Here, take this. It’ll help ease the pain in your brain.”

Isaac opened his eyes and saw Anne holding a fat joint, already lit. With gratitude, he grabbed it and took a toke. It was delicious and relieved the pressure in his head somewhat. Isaac could tell the strain was a superbly cultivated Green Goddess. The moment reminded him of how Seth offered him drugs after visiting the coroner’s office.

“Do some circular breathing,” Anne instructed, teaching him to breathe the smoke in through his mouth and out through his nostrils.

“Thanks,” Isaac said, feeling a bit better, mellower, and not like somebody was repeatedly poking him in his third eye. “So, because of the force, you’re like me?”

“Like you?” Anne’s eyes widened.

“You have superpowers.”

“You have superpowers?”

“On occasion. Super strength and thermal imaging. And the ability to see into the future, past, and present via screenwriting, of course.”

“That’s adorable,” she said as a way to pat him on the head. “We all have to start somewhere.”

Isaac didn’t appreciate her condescension, so he countered with: “And I’d like to start by asking you where Zee is. Or did you feed her to a smoke monster? That’s what the Birman showed me.”

“As you’re well aware, I simply cannot divulge privileged information to you, no matter how nice you ask. But I can assure you she is safe and sound and not eaten by a smoke monster.”

“Admit it! A smoke monster ate her. My baby brain can handle the truth!”

“She’s safe.”

“From who? You? What about the lizardmen and Fox studios?”

“And the Nazis, but I repeat myself. But, Isaac, you don’t really believe I’d be a Nazi, do you?”

Isaac sized her up and decided Anne wouldn’t make for a good Nazi. She was black. “So you have Zee in some sort of safehouse, then? I wasn’t aware that was a service psychics provided.”

“I’d call it a safe mansion, not a safehouse. It’s no big deal. Really. Every now and again, a client of mine will request a safe space from physical or metaphysical forces, and I’m happy to oblige.”

“I can’t believe this is all for a screenwriter,” Isaac muttered.

“I know you can’t believe it. It’s sad. Somehow, you still believe writing is just writing even though you should know better than anyone else.”

“It’s not?”

“Heavens no. It’s witchcraft. Writing is the oldest magic there is. It would be more helpful if you thought of letters as runes. That’s their true essence, you know? And a collection of runes strung together in a specific sequence creates a spell. Why else do you think we call it spelling?’”

“Call what spelling?”

“The act of putting letters together to create words. You spell words out. I’m not just making a pun here. This is how magic really works. Zee is a witch. Her writings are her spells, and her readers are her targets.”

“Oh, yeah, yes, of course!” Isaac yammered while realizing that if Zee was a witch, then by the power of the transitive property, it must mean he was a wizard, just as he had initially suspected when first learning of his powers. He was Harry Potter. “So where is this witch? Is her safe space nearby? What state is it in?”

“Um, I’d say it’s more of a state of mind,” Anne explained.

“Enough of the mumbo jumbo, please,” Isaac begged. “I’m tired, and I need to see Zee. I don’t care if she’s in Nebraska or Narnia.”

“On what business?”

“It’s a private matter. Her cat requested it. You know, the one you lost.”

“Captain Flapjacks?”

“That’s the one.”

“Where is the cat? I’d like to hear it straight from the source.” Anne made a show of looking around the room for the non-existent cat.

Isaac cast his eyes downward in shame before admitting, “Stolen. Thieved. Pilfered from my very fingertips by my own love interest.”

“Naturally.”

“He was in rough shape when I saw him last. This may very well be his dying wish. Would you deny a cat his dying wish?”

“I would,” Anne said coldly. It was now her turn to size Isaac up, so she tested his mettle by peering into his eyes and, by extension, his soul. Isaac could feel her withering stare, and he wilted beneath it. His pineal gland flared up again, and the pain was agonizing with no respite until Anne lifted the pressure by declaring, “But I will not deny the cat’s wish this time.”

Isaac breathed a big sigh of relief. Anne’s glare had cut him to his core, leaving him spiritually naked and sweaty, like a prostitute trawling for dads at a Chuck E. Cheese’s. He had never felt anything like it. Any remaining suspicions Isaac had about Anne’s true identity vanished.

“Alright. Give me a second.” Anne got up and exited the room, leaving Isaac alone with his thoughts. He couldn’t make sense of them. It was all too much. The Force. Jesus Christ’s sister. And discovering that the Scripps National Spelling Bee was the world’s largest coven of witches and wizards. But what stood out most to Isaac, after surviving Anne’s judgment, was how strong cats must be if they could elude someone as powerful as her. In Isaac’s view, Liz’s Egptian conspiracy was no conspiracy. It was the truth. Cats were gods.

When Anne returned, she held a humungous votive candle that took two hands to lift. This one was not Office-themed. The icon on this one was in Tupac's image, and the wax's color was the same as the substance that had filled Anne’s crystal ball mood ring. Isaac couldn’t take his eyes off it, as magnificent as it was mysterious.

After Anne placed the candle between him and her on the table, she lit the wick. The flame crackled like a 4th of July sparkler, but all those fireworks were child’s play compared to the billowing smoke that erupted from the candle as soon as it caught flame. It was just like what he saw in the vision he shared with Captain Flapjacks. Soon, Isaac was choking on the smoke, tasting notes of applewood, frankincense, and Roscoe’s buttermilk waffles.

“Okay, Isaac, walk toward the candle, but you may be in for a bit of a bumpy ride,” Anne warned from somewhere within the smoke. “You’ll need this.”

From out of nowhere, Isaac felt Anne slip something over his head and around his neck, but he couldn’t see what it was before the smoke engulfed him completely. He hoped Anne had bestowed him with a good luck charm or some sort of protective totem because his senses were battling the smoke and losing.

“Go, my child,” Anne ordered, “be like the moth.”

“Not yet!” Isaac yelled over the roar of the candle’s flame. “I have so many more questions. What can you tell me about Cat Power? Is it equal to lizardmen? And does their fight against the lizards go back to ancient Egypt? As an immortal being, do you still have to clean your cats’ litter boxes?” Isaac gulped, unsure if he was asking these questions in the pursuit of knowledge or as a stalling tactic to avoid facing the sinister smoke.

“We don’t have time, Isaac. No more pussyfooting around! Pun intended! The candle will flame out soon, and the passageway will close. You have to go now! Now! Now! Now!”

Isaac felt a push at his back. With the added momentum from Anne’s helping hand, he moved forward through the smoke. His steps were uneasy despite the charm around his neck. The closer to the crackling flame he got, which he was now pinpointing more by sound than by sight, the darker the smoke became.

He turned around to look to Anne for reassurance, but there was only more darkness. The soot and ash were all-consuming. He felt like he was drowning in it. Dread filled Isaac’s nervous system, but he couldn’t stop now, so he pressed on into the unknown even though Isaac felt as if he were walking headlong into the June Gloom.