Jessica's Misadventures
in High School
Chapter 3
The Riot
Watson barely had enough time to wash the blood from her hair and put on a clean shirt before the mob of people surrounded the precinct. On all sides, men and women, shouting, waving signs, all demanding demanding the release of the angel. The only thing stopping them from storming the precinct is the S.W.A.T. team armed with riot shields and batons. They are under orders to only use force if the crowd becomes violent. To support them are officers ready with a fire hose already connected to a hydrant.
Watson steps out of the bathroom to a room filled with panic and confusion. Phones are ringing constantly. No sooner does an operator hang up the phone, it rings again. People are shouting while they run from one side to the other and back again.
One voice in particular is very loud. A man who calls himself Michael Gabriel. A drunkard and doom-sayer who favors shouting prophecies of the end of times at the hands of the Angel of Death. He is frequently in police custody for disturbing the peace and occasionally, public urination. He wears a mashup of old dirty clothes he finds discarded in dumbsters with a head rag made of an old stained towel. His beard is wet with alcohol and flecked with what might be old food crumbs. He is barefoot and his feet are caked in mud.
He hasn't heard the news, yet. He has been in this precinct since noon. It is always difficult to deal with him. No telling what he would do if he sees a "real" angel. This is why extra precautions are being taken to keep him separated from Jessica.
Watson takes in the sight of pure chaos, takes a deep breath, and prepares to step right into it. A cop's work is never done.
"Officer Watson, what are you working on right now?" a short, skinny man with thick glasses says to her as he approaches. His eyes are down at a digital tablet in his hand instead of looking at her.
"I was about to head to my desk and write that incident report you wanted." Watson says while trying to hold back the sound of exasperation. Like most cops she doesn't like Internal Affairs, and with a partner like Garcia, she has to deal with I.A. more often than most cops.
"Before you do that, the Chief of Police wants to speak with you personally." Still his eyes doesn't leave the tablet in his hands. Every once in a while he taps something or flicks his finger across it and his face remains neutral. This annoyed Watson.
*****
Jessica remains quiet in the small room. There is a desk with four chairs, two on either side of it. A mirror that takes almost the entire wall on one side. There is also a box with a circular object attached to it nestled in one ceiling corner.
She walks around the table clockwise as she looks at her reflection. It doesn't take long for her stomach to growl.
"I haven't gotten anything to eat, yet. I can't believe I forgot I am hungry." Jessica said to herself. With all the excitement of reaching the mainland, and seeing her first police precinct, she didn't have time to get anything to eat. She would eat the trail mix packed in her bag, but that was taken from her when she first walked into the building.
Her clothes were taken as evidence because of all the blood on them. She is now wearing the dirt stained robe from the island. It is difficult to make the dye for white linen on the island and making more than two robes for the trip would have been asking for too much.
Trying to ignore the hunger she starts to think about other things. It doesn't work as her stomach rumbles again.
'He did say if I need anything, there will be a guard right outside the door.' she thinks to herself. She tries to turn the knob on the door, but finds that it doesn't budge. Thinking the door is simply stuck, she knocks on the door, knowing that if someone is right outside he would surely hear the knocking.
The door opens, and the same man that here in looks in. "Is everything okay, miss?" He asks politely, remaining past the threshold of the room.
"I'm so sorry to disturb you, but if it isn't too much trouble, can I, please, have something to eat?" She clasps her hands together in front of her lap and bows low with the request. As she says this she moves her wings close to her body. A habit she got into when she was younger, and would frequently knock over candles and bottles with her wings when she bowed.
"I will see what I can do." He answers with his eyes wide open, staring at her wings. He then closes the door, leaving Jessica in the room.
*****
Watson walks into the Chief's office. The Chief is standing behind his desk, watching the local news, which is currently showing cell phone footage of Jessica's arrival on the beach. The Chief is not very tall, standing a few inches shy of six feet; he is a little overweight and his hair is thinning on top. His chin is broad and strong, giving his head almost a box shape. What makes up the bulk of his presence, though, is his personality. He is rarely soft spoken, and when he speaks, his tone has always commanded respect.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Watson says, her voice not even trembling. She frequents the Chief's office. Normally it is to defend Garcia's actions. She is accustomed to these meetings, but that doesn't mean she likes it.
"Take a seat and stay quiet. I need to see this." He says in a calm voice, eyes not leaving the screen. Watson is taken by surprise with his tone. A calm voice can't be a good sign.
'The calm before the storm.' the old expression surfaces in her mind.
The footage of Jessica arriving on the beach is shaky. Jessica's face is never clearly seen. Her voice is clear, when she shouts out and says everyone is naked. Then she covers her face and runs towards the street.
The local news anchor then takes the screen. Her voice is unsteady as she reads from the prompter. She covers the details of how the footage was acquired, without naming the person who recorded. She discusses how the public is reacting to this angel's arrival. She speaks to an expert on video special effects to confirm that this isn't a fake. She finally speaks to an on-scene reporter in front of the precinct.
At this, the Chief mutes the TV and turns to Watson. "I understand you are the one to thank for our special guest." He says to her with a flat tone of voice. He places two fists on his desk and leans over it, staring directly into Watson's eyes. The scowl on his face, though a natural expression for him, shows far more anger than typical.
"Garcia and I did bring Jessica her, sir." Watson is used to these conversations with the Chief, but this one feels worse. This feels serious. Very serious.
"Garcia." A hint of venom came with the speaking of his name. He picks up his fists from the desk and slaps his hands together, as if wiping off dirt from his palms. "Fine. Tell me what happened in the car."
"I will write that down in the report, sir." Her voice becomes sheepish. The heavy atmosphere in the air is starting to get to her.
"NO!" The Chief slams his fist on the table. "I want to hear it, in your own words, before any official report is made."
"I was bleeding badly. Someone in the crowd threw something hard at me. I was about to pass out from blood loss when Jessica placed her hand on my head. Then suddenly I felt great. The bleeding stopped."
"Anything else to add." The Chief always ends interrogations with this. He knows there is always something more that he is not being told.
"Yes, sir." Watson said in a low tone. "I ... have no scars."
"What does that have do this?"
"The scar above my eyebrow, the scar from when my appendix was removed, and the scar on my left knee are all gone." She first noticed this when she saw her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
The scar above her eyebrow was made when she was twelve, and a pervert took advantage of her. She tried to fight back but he smacked her across the head. The blow knocked her unconscious. When she woke up she was naked on the side of a public street, feeling dirty and used. Blood drained down the left side of her face from an open wound above her eyebrow. Whenever she looks in a mirror, that scar reminds her of what happened that day. The pervert was captured a week later and is now serving a life sentence.
The Chief sits down in his chair and leans back. "Last thing I need to know before you make your report. Do you believe she is an angel?"
"I don't know, sir. All I know is she is ..." She searches for the right word. "... real."
"She is real?" The Chief leans forward in his chair.
"Her wings are real. The ... power ... she used is real. She is real. If she is an angel or not, I don't know, but she is real."
"Then she is real." The Chief sits perfectly upright and broadens his shoulders. "I need you to listen very carefully. I can't tell you what to write down in your report, but I advise that you think. Think carefully about what you write. Think of the consequences of having two L.A.P.D. officers filing an official incident report that stat: Angels are real. Do you understand?"
Watson remains quiet for a moment. Soaking in what The Chief just said. Considering the reaction of her flying in she can only imagine what would happen if a report leaked out with details of healing powers.
A knock on the door breaks the silence. When the door opens and the noise from outside the room filters in, Watson is reminded of the chaos surrounding and filling the building.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir." The young detective says peeking his head into the room. "You asked me to let you know immediately if anything happens with 'our special guest', sir."
It seems that 'our special guest' is now the official code word for Jessica.
"Well, spit it out already." The Chief barks.
The detective swallows his fear, "She asked for something to eat, sir."
"You better not tell me that is the only reason you interrupted me." The Chief's leer could kill if it was any fiercer.
"Sir, I still have my salad in the fridge downstairs." Watson chimed in, hoping it would calm things down.
"Good, problem solved. I hope you learned something from the officer,
detective." The Chief accentuated the detective's rank.
Watson stood up and as she walked to the door, The Chief stopped her and said in a plain tone, "Remember what we talked about."
Watson feels like this conversation will have an impact greater than she can possibly imagine.
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