The Megidda: First Daughter of Heaven

Chapter 4

Jess bent over the sink and groaned at her aching back and shoulders as she scrubbed the biggest and last pot of the pile of dirty dishes she found waiting her after dinner. She'd finished her day at school without flying off the handle at anyone, seeing a single trace of loser Lindsey or bullied Briana, either. After school, she took her usual bus to Millermon-Gledhill, signed in at the desk after greeting Barb, and headed straight to the kitchen to begin prepping for a dinner of spaghetti, meatballs, garlic bread, and spring salad.

Sitting down to dinner with the eight women that lived in the shelter was a sigh of relief from the problems weighing on her; those women had much bigger problems than hers, and she was reminded of that fact every time she saw a hand-shaped bruise on a shoulder, a healing black eye, or heard one of the women hiss when the marinara sauce made their split lip sting.

In hindsight, Jess knew she should've made an alfredo sauce instead.

I'll know better next time, she thought as she rinsed the pot, turned off the sprayer, and walked to the rack where the pots were lined up in a shiny row. She stood on her tip toes to put the big pot away and nearly screamed when she heard a quick clatter and rustling noise behind her.

Her heart thudded and she held her breath. Ugh, how she hated mice, or rats, or goblins – whatever was scurrying around in the kitchen.

"I'll have to tell Barb."

"Tell me what?"

Jess did scream then, and then turned, hand to chest, to see a just as surprised Barb standing just inside the kitchen doorway.

"Goodness, Jess, what's wrong? You nearly gave me a heart attack, screaming like that," Barb said, breathless.

"Gave you a heart attack? You snuck up on me! How can someone who's at least 100 years old move like a ninja? You could've killed me with a spoon and I'd never know I was dead until my funeral." Jess couldn't help but smile at the older woman who owned the old Victorian mansion she'd converted into a women's shelter.

Barb pinched Jess's arm playfully. "1oo years old, huh? Well, this century old hag is going to kick your butt at Sequence again, if you ever finish washing the dishes and get your behind in the game room."

Jess laughed and her heart returned to her chest from where it'd dropped to her toes when Barb surprised her. "You couldn't beat me at Sequence if I were blind, deaf, one-handed, and leaned to the left when I walked."

Barb's bark of a laugh echoed through the small kitchen, and Jess could've sworn that she heard that darn scurrying again.

"By the way, Barb, I think you have mice," Jess informed her with as much politeness as possible. It wasn't as if Barb's kitchen was a garbage dump. Jess, other volunteers, and a few of the women who lived in the house all took turns cleaning up. Jess had no idea why mice would ever venture into any part of Barb's house anyway, the woman was downright frightening when she wanted to be.

It kept the dirt bag husbands away from their mistreated wives when they slithered onto the porch and tried to "get their woman back."

Barb narrowed her eyes and propped her hands on her hips. "How do you know that? They leaving their droppings in the cupboards? Grease trails up the walls? Have you seen one?

All good questions.

"No, no, and no," Jess admitted, a little embarrassed.

"So what makes you think my sparkling clean as a whistle kitchen has mice?"

"I think I heard one. It sounded like something was moving in the corner over there." Jess turned and pointed to the corner farthest from them, the corner where the overhead lights didn't reach, the corner that radiated a strange sort of...stink... Jess couldn't put her finger on what it smelled like, but she was sure it wasn't rotting food.