"What are you doing out here?" Jacob demanded.
Embarrassed to be caught during one of her flights of fancy, Jess became defensive.
"And what business is that of yours?"
"Well, for one thing, you are in my yard. For another, you shocked the hell out of me. I am not accustomed to receiving midnight visitations from heavenly beings."
"Heavenly beings?"
"Angels. Handmaidens of God. Bearers of glad tidings, foretellers of tragedy. Women in white."
Her puzzled face cleared, and she laughed sheepishly.
"Oh, yeah. The robe. I can see how it might make me look a bit supernatural. My mom gave it to me for my birthday. It's kind of over the top, huh?"
"On the contrary, it's quite lovely."
Jacob had come out into the yard, and now he reached a hand out to stroke the silken fabric covering her arm. She looked wary, but didn't back away. Jacob smiled down at her, and held out his hand.
"I regret that we had such an unfortunate beginning. May it not be a harbinger of things to come. My name is Jacob Badru, and I offer you my hand in friendship."
"My, my, Mr. Badru, y'all sure do talk purty!" Jess drawled in a mock southern accent. Then she shook his hand.
"Jess Lukas. Pleased to meet you."
"Lukas. Swedish, is it not? That certainly explains your coloring."
"Yep. My father was of Swedish extraction. My mom is Heinz 57."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You know, 57 varieties. As in, a little bit of everything."
"Ah! A human mixed-breed, as it were."
"Exactly. And Badru? It sounds kind of Slavic. With the Jacob, I'm guessing you're Old European."
His eyebrow rose in amusement.
"You would be correct in the 'old' part. And I have lived in Europe on many occasions. But my ancestry is Mediterranean in origin."
"Oh, of course!" Her eyes widened in comprehension. "You're Jewish! How dumb am I? I guess it's because . . . I mean, I know this sounds kind of narrow-minded, but, well, you just don't see many gay guys that are Jewish. At least, I don't." She paused in consternation, then hastily added: "Not that there's anything wrong with that at all! Lots of my friends are gay. And Jewish. Well, I don't mean gay AND Jewish. I mean some of them are gay, and some are Jewish. And . . . and I like them all!" she finished desperately.
Jacob stared at her blankly, thoroughly bewildered. He wondered if perhaps she was a bit mad after all.
"Pardon me, but . . . you have the impression that I am homosexual?"
Jess rolled her eyes.
"Well, duh! No offense, Jacob, but it's pretty obvious. I mean, just look at you! That's a smoking jacket, right? OK, well, the only straight guy who wears one of those is Hugh Hefner. And the way you talk! You sound like David Niven. And don't even get me started on your taste in furniture!"
Jacob was appalled.
"That is, without a doubt, the most narrow minded statement I have ever heard. Incredibly stereotype-laden. An appreciation of the finer things in life is not indicative of one's sexual predilection. Nor is the homosexual community devoid of followers of the Judaic faith. But just for the record, I am neither."
She looked confused.
"Neither what?"
"Neither homosexual nor Jewish. I am, in fact, Egyptian. And thoroughly heterosexual."
Jess snorted in disbelief. Somebody's kidding themself — and hiding pretty deep in the closet. But rather than argue the point, she merely shrugged and said, "Whatever." It didn't matter to her which way his door swung. Besides, gay guys were notorious for being excellent neighbors. And she'd heard they made wonderful "girlfriends."
"Hey!" she said brightly. "How would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?"
"Are you asking me for a date?" Jacob asked, clearly surprised.
"NO," Jess replied firmly. "NOT a date. Two new friends having dinner together so they can get better acquainted."
"Ah. It sounds like an excellent idea. Where shall we go? I am not familiar with the area restaurants yet."
"Excuse me? Restaurants? You are obviously not aware that your next-door neighbor is one of the finest cooks in San Diego County."
Jacob looked askance.
"Really," he said skeptically. "I am afraid I would have to challenge that statement. I myself have been renowned as a superb cook for hundreds of years."
Jess burst out laughing, regarding him with amused derision.
"Hundreds of years, huh? Gosh, Jake, you look damn good for your age!"
"Thank you." He just managed to stop himself from bowing. Courtly manners die reluctantly, even after many years of suppression. "Please do not call me Jake."
She ignored that. "We'll just see how cocky you are after you've tasted my chicken enchiladas."
"Oh, please," Jacob snorted. "A mere child could roll shredded chicken in a corn tortilla and pour canned sauce over it."
"Hon, if that's your definition of an enchilada," Jess smirked, "then you are a sad excuse for a cook." She turned and headed toward her open patio door. " 'Night, Jake!" And she disappeared inside.
Watching her go, Jacob grumbled, "Do not call me Jake."
By the glow of an indigo-shaded lamp, Jacob studied the 20 year old photo in his hand. The angel child, symbol of all he yearned for with every cell of his undead body. Flaxen hair, cornflower eyes, alabaster skin. The faintest of smiles curving rosy lips. Pure innocence. A soul unbesmirched by sin. Jacob did not believe in heaven or hell, but he damn sure believed in sin. Sin, retribution, redemption. Reaping what you sow. Karma. And he was quite sure he had earned enough bad karma that, if he ever actually did manage to die, he would be reborn as a pustule infested maggot in the cesspit of an outhouse in the slums of New Delhi, where every day diseased assholes would shit poorly digested curry upon his head. Jacob truly detested curry.
Could this lovely child be Jess? The resemblance was amazing, although it had not struck him until he had seen her dressed in white. And her hair was down, too. Jacob had not even noticed her blondeness earlier that day. He had not noticed much, to tell the truth, except her bad temper and foul language. If this was indeed a childhood picture of Jess, that meant two things: First, she certainly was nothing like he had always imagined she would be. And second, he had killed her father.
