Be Careful What You Wish For

This is a fun short story I cleaned up! It's based off the prompt "You work for the Be-Careful_what-You-Wish-For foundation" from writing-prompt-s

Enjoy!

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“Those crazy bastards are at it again,” George growls, slamming a fresh stack of manila folders on Jessica’s desk. “This is a goddamn disaster, Crawford. A goddamn disaster.”

Jessica carefully moves her coffee cup away from the dangerously swaying pile of paper. It went cold an hour ago and she doesn't want to drink it, but it’s the principle of the thing. “Surely not a disaster, sir. There seems to be less paperwork than the time with Johns Hopkins.”

Her boss hisses at the reminder. Johns Hopkins had struck an alliance with Make-A-Wish a few months ago, flooding their offices with memos and alerts. With easy access to their clients, the Make-a-Wish foundation was able to move fast, faster than their infrastructure was prepared for. 

As the Be-Careful-What-You-Make-A-Wish-For Foundation, they were responsible for advising the child and reigning in the Make-A-Wish agent before something cataclysmic happened.

Again.

“Pretty harsh winter on the east coast,” her boss says. “We’ve got compromised immune systems, Crawford. Clocks started ticking as soon as little Jimmy sneezes one too many times.”

Jessica doesn’t roll her eyes though she sees Sam, the employee sitting across from her, snort. She’s not as blase about death as the rest of them, still not quite used to this job. George assures her it’s only a matter of time.

“What’s my assignment, sir?” she asks, eyeing the papers. She laughs nervously. “Surely those aren’t all for me, right?” She swallows when George continues to stare at her. “Right?”

***

They’re all for her.

***

Jessica trudges along the snowy sidewalk, the bottom of her jeans already soaked through. It’s been two weeks since George the Bastard had dropped the leaning tower of paperwork on her desk and she isn’t halfway done. The only blessing has been that she hasn’t run across an Agent, a Make-A-Wish agent, making it in time to advise the child before the agent got their claws in them. Those assholes were notorious for making ten minute consultations last hours and she just didn’t have time for that.

She knows she’s run out of luck the moment she spots the Porsche parked diagonally in the street outside of 3208 N. Booker Avenue.

“Goddamnit,” she says out loud, her breath swirling in the air in front of her. Not only is she cold and wet but now she has to call George. It’s company policy. She juggles her phone out of her pocket and dials.

“Be-Careful-What-You-Make-A-Wish-For Foundation,” George intones, “how may I help you?”

“I’ve got an agent on site,” she tells him without preamble. She slings her backpack to the ground, rifling through it with one hand until her fingers brush something that feels like plastic. It's through too much practice that she's able to unfurl the hazmat suit while still on the phone. "No snow tires, out of stater. License plate confirms from NY.”

George sucks in a deep breath. “What’s the make and model?”

She waddles toward the car, yanking the suit up and over her shoulders. Her bag drags behind her, strap caught on her rubber boot. “Porsche Panemera,” she tells him. “New, unscratched, not a rental.”

“Shit, it’s a Closer,” George says. A Closer is a big deal to these Make-A-Wish people, known for granting the most difficult wishes with little to no fuss. Well, little to no fuss for them. “What does the agent look like?”

She scans the snowy street. It’s quiet, despite being in the afternoon, and she can only make out one set of tracks going from the car to the door of 3208 N. Booker Ave. “No visual on them. I think they’re inside.” A creeping dread begins to form along her spine. An Agent is already inside with the child. That is… very bad.

“They’re inside,” George hisses. “For god’s sake, then get your ass inside! Before they close the deal!”

Jessica, for all that she’s new, doesn’t need to be told twice. She ends the call, shoves the phone back into her pocket, scoops up her bag, and books it for the door, heavily booted feet barely saving her from a nasty spill on the front porch. She bangs on the door with a gloved hand, heart pounding loudly in her chest. Please, don’t let it be too late, please don’t let it be too late–

The door opens, revealing a pleasant-faced woman in a cheery yellow apron. Her rich brown hair is tucked up into a clip and there’s a smear of flour on her cheek. She’s smiling slightly as she asks, “Yes, how can I help you?”

Jessica’s stomach rolls. Mrs. Shore’s eyes aren’t focused, pupils blown wide. The poor woman is already under the Agent’s thrall.

“Ma’am,” Jessica says, “I’m from the Be-Careful-What-You-Make-A-Wish-For Foundation. I am here to supervise the choosing of your child’s Wish. May I come in?”

Mrs. Shore’s misty expression clouds. “Oh, you people. I heard you stop the Wishes from going through.” She leans forward menacingly. “I want my Henry to be happy, you know. I don’t think you’ll let him be happy.” She starts to close the door, face still blank and angry all at once.

Jessica throws her foot into the doorway before the door closes, wincing when it pinches her toes even through the heavy boots. The thrall has really sunk in if the woman’s trying to evict her before she even steps onto the premises. “Ma’am, I’m afraid this isn’t up for negotiation.” She shoulders the door open, making Mrs. Shore stumble back.

“How rude!” Mrs. Shore exclaims when she regains her balance. Her eyes still aren’t focusing. “I should call the police, I should!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Jessica says, “but, legally, I have to be here. It’s for safety reasons. Call the police if you must, but they won’t interfere.” She’s wasting too much time, she knows she’s wasting too much time, but she hates using force.

“I will,” Mrs. Shore says huffily. “I will and you’ll see. You’ll see.” She continues to mutter as she wanders back into the kitchen. Hopefully the thrall is deep enough that Mrs. Shore won’t remember to do it with Jessica out of sight.

Jessica doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. As soon as Mrs. Shore’s back is turned, she sprints up the stairs to her left. The file on Henry Shore had indicated his habitation of the third bedroom on the second floor.

Please don’t let me be too late, she prays. She makes the landing, turns left, and counts the doors. When she gets to the right one, she lifts her boot and kicks it down.

The door splinters loudly, cheap wood flimsier than she expected. Jessica has to step over the bottom half still held on by hinges.

“Ah,” the Agent says mildly, “and here I was thinking you lot had finally taken a day off.”

The Agent is sitting by Henry Shore’s medical bed, a picture book balanced on his knee. He’s handsome with round, jolly cheeks, and a woolen jumper designed to make him look harmless. Jessica doesn’t buy it for a second.

She fastens her gaze on Henry Shore, scanning him for any signs of distress. He’s sitting propped up in bed, a boy no older than nine, and is staring at her with an open mouth. He’s gaunt, pale, and shaky but there’s a childish wonderment there alongside a good dose of shock.

She’s be pretty shocked too if someone like her kicked down her bedroom door.

“You know,” the Agent says in that same mild voice, “it was unlocked.”

She turns her gaze back to him, her blue eyes colliding with his purple ones. “Would it have opened if I had tried the handle?”

The smile he gives her goes against the cuddly persona he’s trying to hide behind. “No, I don’t think it would have.”

“Who are you?” Henry asks. His voice is rusty from disuse and pain, a familiar combination in this situation.

“The fun police,” the Agent tells him.

Jessica scowls at the Agent but makes the expression melt away into something softer when she looks at Henry. “I’m your friend, Henry. I’m here to help you make you Wish.”

Henry nods, accepting her answer with the ease all children have. “Why are you wearing a hazmat suit?” he asks. His nose crinkles. “And why is it purple?”

“That’s really impressive that you know what this is,” Jessica tells him, pulling at the rough fabric. “I'm wearing it in case there are any…messes that I have to clean up.” She glares at the Agent pointedly. “And it’s purple because it’s my favorite color. What’s your favorite color, Henry?”

“Green,” the little boy says. His brow furrows. “He says he’s going to make my Wish come true.”

“That I am,” the Agent says. He bounces a little in his seat and smiles wide and warm at Henry. “Now, you were saying something about being an astronaut for a day?”

“I wanna go to space,” Henry corrects him. He lurches forward so he can point to the picture book in the Agent’s hands. “Like Ronnie Rex! She’s goes into space and fights aliens!”

To Jessica’s horror, she can see that Ronnie Rex is indeed in space. With no helmet. With no suit. With no spaceship.

“Oh,” the Agent says, smiling crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. “I can make that happen.”

“No!” Jessica interjects, hurriedly moving to the other side of Henry’s bed. When Henry leans away from her, towards the Agent, she forces herself to slow down. “Uh, I mean, don’t you think space is a bit…far?”

“It shouldn’t take more than a day,” the Agent says, puffing up his chest. “You Wish it and we can make it happen!” Henry looks at him like he’s a hero.

You can get him there in a day, Jessica thinks scathingly, but would you bother to bring him back?

“It’s awfully cold in space,” Jessica tries. She drags Henry’s comforter up to his chin and smiles. “Brrrr! Aren’t you cold here, in the snow? Well, space is even colder! That doesn’t sound like much fun, does it?”

“No,” Henry admits reluctantly. Jessica shoots the Agent a triumphant look which he returns with a glower.

“Exactly,” Jessica says. “Now, what else have you always wanted to do?” She spots a picture of Bill Nye on Henry’s wall and grins. “Hey, you know what would be fun? What if you could meet Bill Nye?”

Behind Henry, the Agent’s face twitches. Jessica knows that celebrity meetups are the most boring, tedious parts of an Agent’s job. To a Closer, it would feel like hell.

“Whaaaat,” the Agent says, “you know I can do better than that, Henry! How about I make you a superhero for a day! Huh? How about it, kid?”

Jessica grinds her teeth. Superhero days were a bitch to clean up after. It took hours to fill out all the paperwork, not to mention how long it took to calculate the collateral damage.

Henry, thankfully, looks a little skeptical. “I don’t know. I don’t have any enemies to fight.”

“And we shouldn’t fight anyway,” Jessica jumps in before the Agent can. “Fighting doesn’t make friends, does it? But you know what does? Science! Wouldn’t it be fun to do science with your friends, Henry? Your friends and Bill Nye?”

Henry’s eyes light up. “Wait, I could bring my friends too? I can do that?”

“Yes,” the Agent says through gritted teeth. His eyes when he looks at Jessica are filled with hatred. “Yes, of course, I can make that happen.”

Jessica grins. She’s won and he knows it.