Outside Jane's apartment building, the stranger sat in an idling gray Cadillac. Jane climbed inside. "We should call the police."

"I did. I called you. We're on our way." The woman drove into the traffic lane.

"I mean, officers on duty. I don't even have a weapon."

"First off, that's just silly. I always carry weapons on me, on duty or off. Second, pleased to meet you; the name's Deanna, thanks for asking. Thirdly, your plan won't work. If the guy sees cops, he'll just wander off and wait until later. Cops won't know who he is, and even if they did, there's no proof or evidence. They show up a minute too early, and nothing happens, and a minute too late is too damn late." The car headed left.

"Why? Why me?"

"Because you no longer exist. You were removed from the world, or you removed yourself. For all intents and purposes, you died ten minutes ago, but due to the hand of divine intervention," Deanna said, sticking out her hand before placing it on her chest, "you were spared. Your timeline's up; there's no timeline to disrupt. Were I to pick any of these fools on the streets, if they perished, a husband might be lost, a mother might die, someone who still has value to the world. You, you removed yourself from play. Whether you're gone a half hour ago or a half hour from now, it makes no difference to anyone but the worms. Might as well do something useful first."

They drove on in silence for a few more minutes. Jane's city of Dothan passed by in flashes of light and sound. She recalled a poem about an old man that contemplated about whether every street he journeyed down would be the last visit for each. Jane wondered the same for herself. She started to speak but found there was nothing else to say. Jane saw no reason to continue anything in the world, let alone a conversation.

Several turns and streets later, they pulled in front of a mid-grade apartment building and found an immediate parking spot. "You see that? The second closest space. If that doesn't convince you that God's hand is at work, I don't know what would."

The building appeared in good shape but worn. The walls were a year or two away from a repainting and the entryway trashcan had its fair share of scuffs and dents. Deanna pushed a button on the elevator. "Apartment four, twenty-three. Two minutes." The doors opened and they entered. "Having fun yet?"

The doors closed. "There's nothing fun. You're not helping."

"I'm not here to help." The elevator chimed with every floor. "Not them, not you. My job is as witness. You fail, they die. It's that simple."

The opening doors revealed hallways to the left, right, and center. A plastic rectangular frame on the wall held a map of the floor, water stained beyond readability. Deanna smiled. "One minute. Which way?"

Jane hesitated for a moment before charging straight ahead. She didn't know why, but her heart pounded. It didn't make sense. She didn't believe. She came more to prove to herself that there was no divine presence interfering in the world. She checked the first sets of doors. The numbers were too high, so she retreated towards the elevators, nearly running Deanna down. She prepared to head right when banging echoed from the left-hand corridor. Jane sprinted through the hall, which turned right to another hallway after thirty feet.

Eight doors ahead, a man threw his shoulder against an apartment door, his back to Jane's approach. Screams sounded from inside, and Jane was seconds away when the door gave in. The figure disappeared from her view and she heard the man's voice yelling something. Jane turned sharp and ran inside.

She had no time to process the room or its occupants. She saw a mother and son, but noted neither her busted lip nor his blackened eye. She did see the man before them pull something from behind his back. Jane tackled him without thought. A gun skidded across the floor as the two of them crashed to the ground. His momentary shock flamed back to rage as his fist flailed behind himself. The side of his hand boxed Jane's ear several times, and she released hold of his waist to grasp his arm, hoping to bend it behind his back.

The man flipped over and kicked Jane in the stomach. He attempted a second shot at her face, but she deflected the blow off her shoulder before wrapping her arm around the leg. He sat up and grabbed her hair, pulling her close. The reduced distance allowed Jane to smash the heel of her hand into his nose, crushing cartilage. The man grasped her by the throat and started squeezing.

As Jane felt the circulation in her head being cut off and the man straddled her waist, she heard him yelling how she was interfering with his family, but a quieter voice broke through.

"Don't worry, folks, no harm will befall you. He came here to kill you, but now he'll get life in prison for her murder. He'll never hurt you again."

That tone, that sing-song condescension, infuriated Jane, and in her peripheral vision, she saw Deanna with her hands in her pockets, leaning against the wall, a smirk on her face. As much as she wanted to let go, a fire flared within Jane for her to fight. She grasped for the man's eyes, but they were just out of reach. She hooked her fingers behind his jaw and pushed her thumbs into his bloody nose, and he emitted a gasping wail, but the pressure on her neck did not subside, and that perfect darkness she dreamt of started to win out.

"Playtime's over," Jane heard as a steel-toed boot crashed into the left side of the man's windpipe. The man's hands left Jane's throat, clasping his own, and she rolled over, heaving in desperate, agonized breaths. Jane missed Deanna's next kick to his left eye, crushing his orbital socket. He fell back, presenting Deanna the opportunity to leap and land her full weight on the man's abdomen. His body lurched up, but she smashed her clasped hands between his eyes, knocking his head to the floor. She grabbed his ears and dug her nails deep, ramming his head into the floor as she punctuated her words.

"There IS one RULE in ALL the WORLD. You DON'T- - HIT-- WOMEN." The man fell unconscious, and Deanna grinned before a heavy skillet slammed her shoulder blades. She hissed and spun to her feet to find the wife behind her, preparing for another shot.

"Get off of him," and the woman swung again. Deanna stepped into the attack, caught the arm against her body, and punched the woman in the eye. The woman fell to the ground, the skillet clattering to the floor, and the son ran to his mother's side.

"Are you shitting me? We just saved your goddamned lives." Deanna reached a hand behind herself to help Jane up, but Jane staggered to her feet without assistance.

"We don't need your help," the mother said. "Get out."

"You are a stupid woman." Deanna knelt in front of the mother and grabbed the front of her shirt. "You're a stupid woman who made the stupid decision to stay with a stupider man, and you probably have a stupid kid as well. You let him beat you, you let him beat your son, and you'd let him kill you both. Understand this: this is not how your lives should be. You didn't deserve any of those beatings." Deanna paused and pointed to the fresh bruise she had administered. "Except that one." She rolled her shoulder, wincing as she did so, and punched the woman in the face again. "And maybe that one."

The woman flopped to the ground in a whimpering heap. Deanna turned to the boy, who shivered at her approach. "You listen and listen good. I know mommies like your mommy. When the police come, she'll say not to say anything bad about your daddy, but your daddy's crazy. Your daddy came here to kill you and your mommy, and your mommy will lie to protect him so he can kill you another time. Your mommy's also crazy. Don't be stupid; don't be crazy. When the police show, tell the truth. And if you thought your daddy was scary, well, I just beat him up, so tell the truth, or I'll come back for you." Deanna nodded. "And you're welcome."

She started to exit, stopping in front of Jane, who leaned against the broken doorway. Deanna admired her own handiwork before focusing on the child once more. "And don't touch that gun. Leave it for the police. Or if you do touch it," and Deanna pointed to the father, "you might have an opportunity here to improve your future." She left, following Jane, who wobbled as she walked. The residents peeking through their partially opened doors shut them quick when the two passed or made eye contact. Deanna clutched Jane's shoulders to both steady her and to whisper into her ear, "I can't tell you how much I hope to hear a gunshot."

Jane didn't remember much about the return to the car or the departure from the area. She felt her heart forcing blood through the arteries in her neck, straining to reach her head as she laid her face against the passenger side window. Staring ahead, she watched the world come towards her as the world behind receded in the side mirror, the two blurring into one image with the future and past melding together.

"God, this is a crappy neighborhood. Are all the buildings in this town burnt down?" Jane didn't move, so Deanna continued. "By the way, I didn't mention it before, but I really like that perfume you're wearing."

The car slithered into one of the worse neighborhoods, creeping to the edge of a curb across from an independent convenience store. The glass windows were covered in bars and sun-bleached cigarette ads and a sketchy figure sat in front begging alms from every customer. "Be back," Deanna said, as she exited the car and crossed the street. Someone opened the door for her and she laughed as she entered. Through the random gaps between posters, Deanna could be seen talking with the man as she purchased something. Jane straightened up in the car, recovering by increments.

Deanna exited the convenience store, plastic bag in one hand, her other arm wrapped around the guy's waist. He had dirty blonde hair and stood a good six inches taller than Deanna, who laughed about something. She stopped, placed the bag on the ground, pulled a beer bottle out, and placed it so the cap touched the windowsill. A tap on the top, the cap popped off, and Deanna started to take a sip when she instead offered the bottle to the man. With his acceptance, she removed two more bottles and opened one in a similar manner before following him around the corner to the alley.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jane muttered. Deanna drained the first bottle in one long motion. When she finished, she raised her hands high, bottle in each, and cheered as the man smiled and clapped. Deanna pointed to some spot down the alleyway. She showed the man the empty bottle, and then hurled it towards some unseen target. The man turned to watch its flight.

Deanna smashed the other bottle over his head.

"Oh, shit," and Jane jumped out of the car as quick as her injuries would allow. She stumbled to the alleyway, but knew it was too late. Deanna had slammed his head into the brick wall and dragged him down, his face torn as if rubbed against coarse sandpaper. She used the broken bottle as a weapon and screamed with every attack.

"God says, no more touching women," as she stabbed the backs of the hands that protected his head. "God says, no more raping women," and she jabbed the bottle between his legs. The denim fended off most of the attack, but there was enough penetration to elicit fresh wails from the man, who curled in a fetal position. "God says, no more pretty face," as she plugged the bottle remnant into his cheek and twisted. Jane was on her at this point, pulling Deanna's away. The bottle was yanked from his face, and through the hole that was made, Jane could see the man's back teeth.

"God says no more," Deanna yelled, as Jane pulled her to the car. The store owner ran outside with a baseball bat, but instead of pursuing them, he ran to the alleyway, followed by two male customers. Deanna allowed herself to be dragged off but continued screaming.

"You like raping women? You cut them so they'll never forget you? YOU'LL NEVER FORGET ME!" and she jumped into the Cadillac while Jane climbed in the back. The bum joined the scene to smoothly grab Deanna's bag before walking away. One customer called 911 while another tried to record the women or their license plate with his phone. Deanna cackled as they drove off.

"That was great," she crowed.

"What the hell was that? What the fuck was that all about?"

"Oh, please. What I did was no worse than what he's done to other women. Well, maybe all combined." Deanna took her eyes off the road to look at Jane through the rearview mirror. "He's a rapist man who likes to cut women's faces. He got what he deserved."

Jane had a familiarity with the case from some mentions at the precinct's roll calls, but the victims certainly weren't in this area. "And how do you know that? God?"

"Exactly."

"Bullshit."

"Not bullshit. I'm an angel, bitch. Just as we knew about that other asshole and his family, we knew what that asshole's been doing. That rapist man commuted fifty miles to work each day. His victims lived in the middle of that route. He had no connection to those areas, his DNA ain't on file, and he wasn't stupid either. He liked cutting women's faces, a line on their left cheek for a remembrance, and he'd do it again if it wasn't for me. But now, when the police hear about what I said, they'll be legally justified to collect DNA from the crime scene I left. That wasn't madness; part of the plan."

"You couldn't call in a tip anonymously?"

"There's a thirty-five thousand dollar reward already. Do you know how many tips they're already getting, how many suspects? No evidence, no previous arrest record, no- -"

"I don't care. Stop the car." The Cadillac slowed and pulled next to the curb. Jane exited just as her phone started to vibrate. "I'm leaving."

"What do you mean leaving? You can't leave. We were just starting to become friends."

"Friends? You're a psychopath. We're not friends."

Surprise crossed Deanna's face. "Then why'd you get in the car?"

"Because I didn't want to get left at a goddamned crime scene." Jane activated her phone and placed it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hello. This is Howell Creek Memorial Hospital. Do you know a Ms. Eleanor Berden?"

"Yes." The sickening feeling Jane had been living with was starting to rise up again. "I'm her daughter."

Deanna rolled down the passenger side window. "You know what? You're welcome. You're welcome for my saving your piece of shit life."

Jane waved her off and started to walk away. "Your mother was involved in a robbery this evening," the voice on the phone said. "I'm afraid she's been shot. She's been in surgery for the last hour. If you or another family member could come down..."

Jane looked back to the Cadillac before, "I don't... yeah, I can be there in ten minutes." She hung up and ran to the car, from where Deanna was still yelling.

"I'm a hero. No, I'm a goddamned superhero, and I've saved more lives and stopped more bad things this year than you'd do in your whole cop life, so you can--"

"Please," and Jane reached for the door handle, "I need--"

Deanna hit the door lock before Jane could reach the car. "Don't give a shit. This ain't a chauffeur service, and I'm no chauffeur lady."

"Please. I need to get to Howell Creek Memorial, my mother--"

"I don't give a... wait, what?" The doors unlocked and the woman's rage evaporated in a heartbeat. "Never mind, get in."

"Thank you," Jane forced herself to say. "You can drop me off at the emergency entrance."

"No, darling. I said my next spot was a shooting." A grin emerged. "That's where I'm supposed to go next."

***

Jane sprinted to the hospital service desk. The attendant looked up. "Can I help you?"

"My mother was brought here. She was shot. I got a call."

"Name?"

"Eleanor Berden. B-E-R-D-E-N. I just got the call, but it happened about an hour ago."

"One moment." He referred to a clipboard and scanned it before typing on his computer. "She was just released from surgery. Let me call the doctor for you." He picked up his phone and pointed to the wall. "If you take a seat, someone will be with you shortly."

The waiting room was lined with chairs, and Jane dropped into one. Deanna strolled next to her. "I'm heading down to the cafeteria. When you're done here, come see me and we'll talk. Or don't and we won't. Makes no never mind to me."

She still wasn't sure if she believed this maniac or not, but Jane needed a modicum of hope. "Is she going to be okay?"

"Your moms? Sure, she'll be right as rain, more righteous than rain, in fact. A few months from now, she'll be healthier than she was when she was shot."

"How do I know that you're not just saying that to make me feel better?"
"Because, darling, I am an angel. I don't lie. Also, caring about feelings, well, that's not me. Don't worry about that. You should worry about what the doctor won't tell you."

"What do you mean?"

"Meaning, patient medical records are confidential. He's not allowed to discuss the other thing with you, unless you have power of attorney in health matters...?"

"No."

"Then, that's that. Anyways, I'll be downstairs." Deanna shrugged and wandered off. Ten minutes passed before a doctor emerged from one of the hallway doorways carrying a manila folder. Jane stood as he headed for the desk, and the attendant pointed in her direction. The doctor reached out for a handshake.

"Ms. Berden?" After an affirmative nod, "First, I just wanted to say, your mother's doing well. Surgery was reasonable straightforward. There was some blood loss, and we need to watch for infection, but otherwise, no harm to any major organs, and no apparent nerve damage. We'll have to wait for her to wake, but as of now, all signs are looking good."

"So, she should be okay, right?"

If she hadn't been looking for it, Jane would have missed the minute hesitation before the doctor spoke. "As I said, we do need to wait until your mother wakes, but there will hopefully be no ill effects from the shooting or the surgical procedure."

He seemed sincere, but there was something off, as if he were avoiding saying something. Jane considered the ethics of a lie before, "Doctor, I have full medical power of attorney in instances of her mental and physical incapacitation. I'll probably be helping with her recovery, so if there's anything else I need to know..."

The doctor tapped the folder in open palm several times, and then waved to the chairs. Jane reclaimed her seat and the doctor took another. There was a slight sigh before he spoke. "When we did x-rays and the surgery, we noticed a sizable growth in her chest."

The blood rushed from Jane's head and she had to force her hands still to prevent shaking. "A growth?"

The doctor nodded. "The bullet actually cut into it. We took a sample for a biopsy, so we won't know for some time if there is any malignancy." He stared at Jane, making sure that she was focused on him. "This is not so much a bad thing, and if it is not benign, then we may have caught it in the early stages. There is only the one that we've found, but we'll need to do further scans to make sure."

The doctor continued to talk about treatment options, insurance, appointments, and the like, but Jane's mind was on other things, like how earlier she didn't think she could bear the weight of one more thing, and now here she had to bear the weight of one massive more thing. Air felt heavy in her throat and breathing seemed a struggle. Jane wiped away the start of a tear in her right eye, took a deep breath, and typed the doctor's recommendations of names and places in her phone.

"Your mother will need some time to rest. She won't be up for a few hours. When she does wake, you can see her. Tomorrow, we can have your mother speak with her doctor and an oncologist to discuss treatment options." The doctor stood, extended well wishes, and departed. Jane saved her notes, put her phone in her pocket, and leaned back to stare at the ceiling tiles.

Jane tried imagining how so many terrible things could happen in so short a time, especially on a day as important to Jane as today. Life had suddenly turned surreal and she was less able to make sense of things as time ticked on. Somewhere in the confusion, a treacherous idea snuck in, encroaching on her other thoughts until it solidified into a terrible, angry epiphany. Jane headed downstairs to find Deanna.

***

The cafeteria was large, but sparsely populated at the current hour. Deanna sat away from the closest of stragglers, well into her salad when Jane approached. Deanna pointed to various items on her tray with her fork. "I ordered extra, in case you wanted something. I got a donut, because people like donuts, not just cop people, but I didn't want to be clichéd, so I also got a bagel, a croissant, this veggie-meat thing," she said with a scowl as she poked it as if it were some toxic science experiment.

Jane glared at the woman. "What are you doing here?"

"Me? I'm enjoying a lovely, crisp salad."

"Here, in the hospital. You showed up at my place before she was hurt." A pause for a breath before Jane continued. "Did you shoot my mother?"

"What?" Deanna asked. "No. Of course not. I don't think I've shot anyone this week. Wait, what's today? Nope, definitely not this week."

"But you know who did. You could have stopped it."

"Oh, absolutely. Don't get me wrong. It was us, just not me. I couldn't have made that shot if I tried." Jane stalked towards her. "Oh, so you'd prefer your mother not receiving an early cancer diagnosis."

"And you think shooting someone is the answer?"

"No. Not me. But from what I've heard, yeah, shooting was the best option."

"Not surgery."

"No, not surgery," Deanna said with a snarl. "From what I understand, because of its location, they would have been all hesitant to do cutting, so they tried chemo or radiation or something, but that didn't work, so the tumor metabolized and grew more--"

"Metastasized."

"What?"

"Metastasized, not metabolized."

"What the hell ever. Point is, the bullet harmed the tumor. That, combined with whatever treatment she gets, is enough to kill the little bastard. Don't ask me how, I'm not some doctor person."

"So shooting people, violence, that's how you solve problems?"

"It's not how we have to solve problems." Deanna smiled. "It's just how I like solving problems. Fire with fire. That, and the fact that we deal with the worst of the worst. I'm a wee little girl fighting big bad wolves. The fact is, the doctors wouldn't perform surgery without a good reason. There were few scenarios where your mother survived. This was the best one, so get this in your head. Your mother had a tumor. Malignant. Cancerous. Undiagnosed." She flourished her fork like a wand. "You're welcome."

Jane pulled out a chair and sat. It took every gram of strength to resist attacking the woman. "If what you're saying is true--"

"If? If what I said is true?" It was Deanna's turn to raise her voice. "Are you shitting me? After everything you've seen today?"

"I don't know what I've seen. I just can't wrap my mind around it, and I sure as hell can't reconcile myself that you're an angel."

"So this is all some elaborate con? That's what you're saying?"

"Could be, yeah."

Deanna leaned back in her chair, drummed her fingers on the table several times before smiling. "Okay, so how'd we know you were thinking of offing yourself?"

"I'm not saying I was, but maybe you thought that because you have cameras in my apartment..."

"Right, cameras. Playing with pills, a razor, a gun, but no deathy thoughts. Fine. What about the prick with his near-dead family?"

"I don't know. Maybe you all overheard him or something."

"Who's this 'you all'? You mean me and God?"

"I'm still not buying it, but you just said, 'How'd we know?' "

Deanna sounded a small quiet laugh and stared skyward, shaking her head slightly. To Jane, these were all the hallmarks of someone who had just been caught in a lie. Deanna returned her gaze to Jane. "And the rapist man?"

Jane pointed at her. "See, there, all I saw was you attacking somebody. I don't know if any of what you said was true. You could be some sociopath who likes beating up men."

"Okay, and I guess we secretly x-rayed your mother looking for tumors, found one, then used said x-rays to calculate the best angle to shoot with minimal damage before finding the right bullet caliber and grain to make said shot. Is that what you're saying? Even the mind reading could be done through suggestion, so, yeah, anything's possible. What you're missing is this: trick or not, con or no, the thing is, although she may not ever know it, this is one of the best days of your mummy's life."

"Are you goddamn insane? She's been shot and will find out she has cancer."

"The pain of being shot is far better than the pain of late-stage cancer. She suffers a little pain now to avoid a lot of pain later. Forcing a surgery was the only way to guarantee her survival. And you want to know what else? If we, and yes, we... hadn't stepped in, your mother would be feeling worse tomorrow. Not because someone put a bullet in the side of her body, but because her daughter put a bullet through the back of her brain." Jane looked away and Deanna leaned in, smiling. "Yeah, you forgot all about that, didn't you? What, did you think that she'd be upset for a while, but then say, 'Oh, well, I guess my Jane had her reasons,' and go on her merry way? No, she'd never get over it. She would have believed she should have done more, should have seen the signs in your face, or that she should have detected some tone in your voice whenever you had called. After the crap you went through this month, she wanted to be there for you, but not smother you, give you some space, and she would've regretted for the rest of her life not being there more for you, not letting you know how much she loved you. She'd spend years replaying every moment with you, endlessly imagining that one conversation that she could have, should have had, that magic mixture of words that could have saved her little girl.

"And then she'd get fucking cancer. So, fuck you, you're welcome."

Deanna picked up her fork, stabbed it into her salad, and took a bite. "Great. Warm. Like my lettuce cold. Ruined." She threw her fork into the bowl and a radish slice skipped out onto the tabletop. "Let me tell you something. You can be pissy all you want, but your mummy's alive, and will be alive, because of us. You are alive because of me. I'm a goddamn hero and you're nothing but a dead girl walking. You were supposed to be dead hours ago, and you're only alive because of the grace of God, and more importantly, me." She opened her purse and tossed the croissant and bagel inside. Deanna looked from the glazed doughnut to her purse, shrugged, and tossed it in as well. "I understand you're not in your right damned mind and that you've had a trying day, but I'm sorry, no pastries for you. I paid for them, and I'm too pissed off now."

Deanna threw her purse strap over her shoulder, stood, and took a step before pausing. "You had a crap week. Sorry. I like you, or rather, I'm supposed to." Jane looked up at her and Deanna shrugged. "As far as I've been told, pretty soon, you and I become best of friends. Personally, I don't see it, but I also learned not to question. Just believe this, you've been chosen to help people in ways you can't imagine. We can't change the past, but we can kick the future's ass. We do it all the time. Plane crashes, murder rampages, little lost Boy Scouts wandering in the woods. I've saved over a thousand lives on my own, and I'm told that you're part of this, and that's a small exclusive club, so I gotta respect that." Deanna stopped to take a breath. "Now, do you know the Griner Inn?"

"Name sounds familiar."

"The first floor has a restaurant called the Stand that supposedly has great grub. After you do what you got to do with your moms, and when your head's more settled, meet us there. We'll have some good food, down some beers, and talk. Help you get situated, figure out your role--"

"What makes you think I want anything further to do with you?"

"Because that's just how it is. We don't force you to do anything. These are just the choices you will eventually make."

"And just when am I supposed to show up?"

"Oh, precious. You're really not getting this are you? If you decide four days from now that you'll get there at eleven, but decide to get there thirty minutes early, we'll be there at ten twenty-five. If you show up an hour late, we'll be there at five minutes to noon." And with that, the woman strolled off with a closing, "See you soon."

Jane sat and watched Deanna's exit. Jane wanted so bad to escape, to leave all her problems behind, but it wouldn't be fair to her mother at the moment, so she would wait. There was a group roaming about with one violent lunatic and another person who shot her mother. Jane had a purpose again. "Yes, I will," Jane said. "I'll be seeing all of you very soon."