Evangeline (15 page)

“I don’t know what to think about any of this, okay?” said Caleb after a moment.  “I told the cops what I saw… I described that girl on the stairs.  And now I’m hearing they think she’s that serial killer everyone’s been talking about.” He studied Angeline a moment, trying to make sense of it all.  “I just don’t know what the fuck to do,” he said, shaking his head.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” Angeline asked him in a quivering voice.

Before Caleb could answer her, a booming voice echoed through the gymnasium.  

“Quinn!”

Coach Walters was standing in the locker room entrance gripping a clipboard. 

“What the hell are you doin’, son?  Get a move on!” 

“One minute, Coach!”

“How ‘bout right now?!”

Caleb hurriedly asked Sister, “Do you have a cell?”

She shook her head. 

“Then come to the game tonight,” he said, “and we’ll talk more.”

“Quinn!  Let’s go!” barked the coach.

As Caleb stood to leave, Angeline impulsively grabbed him by the arm and desperately pleaded under breath, “Caleb.  Please tell m-m-me I’m not crazy.”

“Well, if you’re not,” he answered.  “Then what are we talking about?”

He held Sister’s anguished gaze a moment longer then trotted down the stairs, leaving the girl frightened and alone.

Following Angeline’s littl
e
tete-a-tete with Caleb Quinn, the path forward was clear to me.  Yes, it was bloody.  Yes, it was brutal.  But it was also necessary.

First of all, sad to say, I was done with my sister.  The girl had become a liability… a ball and chain dragging on your humble servant’s grand plans to rid the world of its slimy underbelly.  The next time I came out would be the last, because I had no intention of ever going back again.  I’d shut the door, once-and-forever, on our sweet Angeline, just as Mother bolted hers against the big bad world.

Next on the agenda would be eliminating our long lost brother.  Caleb Quinn had figured things out, which was unfortunate for him.  A good deal of the blame fell on me, of course.  Sometimes I’m just too damn cocky for my own good.  Regrettably, Prince Charming would be paying a heavy price for my carelessness. 

And last, but certainly not least, I had to fit Caleb’s big brother into that crowded schedule.  Never mind that Billy had made my sister’s life a living hell, the evil bastard had also made the Hacker lose focus.  Pervies were roaming free in the Heartland because of him.  For that reason alone The Asshole deserved to die.

Of course, it’s not easy trapping a predator… that is, unless, you happen to be a predator yourself.  We were creatures alike, Billy and I… always hunting, never the hunted.  But I held one huge advantage over my worthless adversary:  Surprise.  I had surprise on my side. 

Ever since the rape at the Mohr’s I’d been plotting that fucker’s surprise bash.  All kinds of elaborate plans and schemes had gone dancing like sugarplums through my head.  How to catch him?  And once I’d caught him, what to do with him?  What to do?  What to do? 

Oh, my friends, the fantasies I had. 

In the end, though, the plan I chose was the most straightforward.  Willowdale High School’s final playoff game of the season was being played at home that Friday night, with the winner advancing to the championship at Memorial Stadium in Lincoln, hallowed home of the University of Nebraska Cornhuskers.  Win or lose, if The Asshole held true to form, he’d be cruising up to Steel Creek Reservoir after the game to fuck Brianna Dresner stupid.  And that’s where I’d catch him with his pants down.  Surprise, surprise, Asshole! 

Oh, the anticipation.  The thought of it chills me still.

chapter nine

Over the Plains an
d
across the horizon, as far as Angeline could see, a lid of slate-grey sky was sliding east toward Holt County.  Sister had been gazing out her bedroom window for the longest time, watching the front advance while she contemplated a life gone haywire.  The girl desperately wanted to believe herself incapable of the monstrous deeds being attributed to the L3K, but in her heart she knew the face in the mirror was not entirely her own-- that it was, in fact, shared by Nebraska’s most infamous murderess.

That afternoon, for the first time, thoughts of suicide began creeping into my sister’s head, and I knew I couldn’t delay any longer.  The time had come to take the wheel.  No playing games, either.  No knocking her out with a migraine.  Angeline had smartened up.  She knew better now.  It would be survival of the strongest, toe-to-toe for ultimate control, and on that score I had no doubt who would prevail.  After all, my sister was worn out and beaten down.  A swift boot in the ass and she’d be history.

Only it didn’t exactly play out that way.

The moment Angeline sensed my approach, she steeled for battle.  To be perfectly honest, I was amazed there was any fight left in her.  I mean, honestly, what did that girl have that was worth fighting for?  Your devoted servant had purpose; I had embarked upon a great crusade.  My opponent, on the other hand, had diddly-fuckin’-squat. 

After she’d repulsed my opening advance, I redoubled my efforts and came harder.  Frantic, Angeline mentally threw herself against the barricades.  When they began giving way, she stacked furniture, hammered nails-- doing anything and everything she could to keep the invader from breaching.  But Evangeline the Merciless would not be stopped.  I rolled up the siege engines and battered away until my sister’s defenses crumbled at last beneath the onslaught.  The moment Angeline recognized the battle was lost she freaked out, spinning in a panic toward the dresser mirror and screaming at her ashen reflection, “Get out of my head!”

Fuck you bitch.  Ready or not, here I come.

The girl slipped to the floor with her back against the dresser, gripping her head between her hands as if trying to keep it from splitting apart.  “Get out!” she screamed in terror.  “Please don’t do this!”

Too late.  I was in. 

Angeline’s eyes rolled back in their sockets and her head abruptly dropped, landing with her chin on her chest. 

“What the hell’s going on up there?!”  Stepfather bellowed from downstairs. 

“Nothing!” I yelled back.  “I’ll be r-r-right down!”

Friends, that’s how quickly it happened.  One second my sister was there and the next… ‘twas I.

Bon voyage, mi amor.

I lifted myself from the floor, dusted myself off and took a moment to check my look in the mirror; primping my hair and slapping some color back into those pallid cheeks. 

“Hello, Evangeline,” I smiled at my reflection.  “Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life.”

Deputy Gottschalk’s staggered wor
k
schedule had him home that evening; a big wrench in my plans since Angeline was still officially grounded.  On his off days Stepfather enjoyed chasing dinner with a few shots of pornography, which meant I’d have to sneak out of the house, take care of business, and get home again without getting busted.  To complicate matters, I had my heart set on a weapon--a very particular weapon--that Stumpy kept stowed in his gun cabinet. 

As I left the bedroom and descended the stairs to the kitchen, I could hear the man ranting as usual, lamenting all that had gone wrong in his self-centered little world.  His lawyer friend had ditched him, the L3K case was running him ragged, and he had no one to complain to but a wife and stepdaughter who were “thick as molasses”.  Meanwhile his biggest problem stood in the kitchen entry just a few feet away.

“I d-d-don’t feel so good,” I announced, leaning against the door jamb and looking faint.  “I think I’m going to buh-be sick.” 

It was yet another Oscar worthy performance by your humble servant.  I’m telling you, Meryl Streep had nothing on me.   

“Well don’t puke in here for christsakes,” barked Stumpy. “Get your diseased ass back upstairs and stick your head in the toilet.”

Mother was standing at the stove in her tattered Betty Crocker outfit, studying me curiously.  It was weird, but I almost felt the woman was looking right through me-- straight into the soul of the imposter wearing her daughter’s skin.  I shrugged off that odd sensation and left the kitchen. 

Halfway up the staircase I paused to listen.  The scrape and clatter of utensils and dishware told me that supper was continuing as usual, so I stole back downstairs and scurried into the main room.  I found what I was looking for in Stepfather’s gun cabinet; Grandpa Gottschalk’s 1949 Winchester Model 21. 

That old man had traded a perfectly good mule for that double barrel shotgun, and I intended to make damn sure he got his money’s worth. 

The escape from th
e
farmhouse was not without its anxious moments. With Stepfather down in the main room, drinking beer and pleasuring himself to
Anus in Wonderland
, I snuck down from the attic with an old cookie tin, the macramé purse, Elvira’s wig and wearing a red hooded mack over Elvira’s black dress.  It was a raincoat Mother once wore when she was young and still unafraid of the great outdoors.

Following a brief detour to the bedroom to fetch the shotgun and a box of shells, I paused on the stairwell for a peek into the main room.  I could hear substandard porn acting coming from Wonderland, but saw no sign of Stepfather.  Thinking the coast was clear, I took a few cautious steps down the stairs then went rigid at the sound of a beer tab popping.  In a matter of seconds Stumpy emerged from the kitchen sipping a can of Budweiser.

Friends, my heart slammed into my throat.  All Deputy Gottschalk had to do was glance up and he would have caught the L3K flat-footed and red-handed, with Grandpa’s shotgun in one hand and a fresh load of shit in her panties.  But that lawman never saw me.  True to his totally inept existence, Super Cop walked right past and disappeared into the main room. 

Once I’d exhaled, I snuck the rest of the way downstairs and slipped out the front door.  With any luck at all your faithful servant would be done with business and back in bed before that deputy sheriff ever missed me.  

Darkness had com
e
to the Heartland as I drove south through a cold drizzle with Grandpa’s shotgun tucked under the seat and the cookie tin resting beside me.  It was going to be a long and miserable night for those attending Willowdale’s big game-- but for Billy Quinn the worst was yet to come. 

As the Ford passed the outskirts of Hainesville, I caught a glimpse of an old friend standing on the edge of a withered cornfield.  I hit the brakes, backed up and turned the truck so the headlights lit up the scarecrow.  I didn’t know when Grandpa’s old Winchester had been fired last, and I wanted to avoid any unexpected hiccups.  Better to test that weapon now than be surprised later when Billy Quinn was locked in my sights. 

I climbed from the cab, slipped the weapon from under the seat and broke open its hinge action to insert two shotgun shells into the breech.  Once the barrels were snapped back into place, I set the selector to fire both chambers and tromped down to the cornfield.  Ten feet from Mr. Scarecrow, I cocked the weapon, took aim at his rotted noggin and pulled the trigger.

BAWOOOMMM!
  The shotgun roared and ol’ pumpkin head was blasted to pulp. 

Grandpa’s old Winchester had passed with flying colors.  I was locked and ready to unload on The Asshole.  I kicked out the empties and was loading fresh shells when a porch light blinked on at the distant farmhouse.  It was time to skedaddle.

All the streets aroun
d
Willowdale High School were jammed with parked vehicles for the big game, but I couldn’t locate Billy’s pussy wagon anywhere among them.  So I squeezed the truck into a tight spot and began a long walk toward the field through a spitting rain.  The ticket booth was unmanned when I arrived--the game had been in progress for more than an hour--so I walked right on through and headed for the glowing lights beyond the slope. 

Hard to believe, but the cacophony of sound that had assaulted Angeline a few weeks before was even louder this time around.  As I crested the slope, brass instruments were blaring, drums were banging, people were cheering and players were running about the field like crazed chickens. 

I made my way to the front of the bleachers and worked my way up the first aisle.  Before I could find a seat, I heard a familiar “woof, woof, woof” coming from above.  Several rows higher sat Billy’s three stooges, barking at the girl they assumed was Angeline Gottschalk-- the pathetic mouse they took such pleasure in torturing. 

Well, my friends, as Father used to say, never assume anything.  It’ll only make an ass of u and me.  Those three jackasses needed to learn that lesson, so I continued climbing the steps.  As I passed the acne-pocked bastard sitting closest to the aisle, I slammed a sudden fist straight and hard into his grinning puss.

“Fuck!” he blurted out, clutching his nose. 

Blood came seeping through his fingers, so his buddy quickly helped him to his feet and led him away to find medical attention.  I didn’t pause to wish them luck, instead climbing higher until I found an open seat near the top of the bleachers.  As I settled in, I noticed the last of Billy’s dick-suckers glaring at me from below.  Guess I was supposed to be intimidated.  Instead I flipped him the middle finger.

Yup, boys and girls, things were going to be a whole lot different ‘round Willowdale High from now on.  No more picking on Angeline Gottschalk.  There was a new sheriff in town.

“Excuse me.” 

A young father was trying to squeeze past me with his snot-nosed kid.  The kid was grabbing his crotch and whining about having to “go tinkle”.  Just as I stepped into the aisle to let them pass, the heavens unzipped and tinkled all over the crowd instead.  That sudden downpour had everyone bouncing down from their seats like Pachinko balls to seek shelter beneath the stands.  Father and son went with them, but I tugged the raincoat’s hood further over my head and stayed put.  After all, the boys on the field didn’t seem to mind a little inclement weather.  Why should I? 

From my high perch I scanned the field until I located number 51.  For the remainder of the game I watched Billy Quinn like a jungle cat stalking a wildebeest on the Serengeti.  God, how I hungered for that juicy sonofabitch.  I wanted him so bad I could taste him. 

Before I knew it the crowd on the opposite side of the field was counting down the seconds, then issuing a mighty roar as the clock struck zero.  Apparently the previously undefeated Willowdale Buffalos had lost the game.  There would be no trip to Lincoln this year.  Dreams had been dashed and the hometown fans were beside themselves.  There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. 

Me?  I didn’t give a rat’s ass.  There were more important things on my mind than a stupid football game.  I made my way down the aisle, keeping an eye glued to Billy Quinn at all times.  The boy’s helmet was off now, and his redheaded fuck-buddy, dressed in her blue and gold cheerleader jacket, joined him as he walked off the field. 

“Angel!”

I glanced over my shoulder and spotted Caleb Quinn being swept along by the crowd.  I ignored his wave, instead ducking low and squeezing through a maze of umbrellas.  When I came up for air again, I found myself behind Billy and Brianna-- close enough to hear the sound of the boy’s cleats clacking on the ribbon of blacktop that led to the parking lot. 

At one point The Asshole glanced over his shoulder at the mooing crowd and I dropped my head and kept my eyes pinned to the ground.  When I glanced up again he was gone.  After a brief and frantic search, I spotted him moving with Brianna Dresner toward a side lot.  Billy handed her a set of keys and she scurried off through the rain.  I followed that bitch as far as the pussy wagon, then watched as she opened the passenger’s door and climbed inside. 

“Whatcha doing over here?”

Caleb had come up behind me, his long hair matted by rain, his drenched uniform discolored by mud.  He glanced toward his brother’s van then back again, studying me with suspicion.  But I wasn’t showing my hand.  Not this time. 

“You asked m-m-me to come.” I stammered innocently. 

At the moment a group of laughing teens passed by.  “Too bad, Willowdale,” one of them jeered.  “Better luck next year.”

Caleb ignored them, and once they’d moved from earshot he said to me, “Where’s your truck parked?” 

I gestured some obscure direction. 

“I need to shower and change,” he said.  “Shouldn’t take more than fifteen-twenty minutes.  Meet me outside the gym and we’ll talk, okay?

“Okay.”

It seemed Caleb had something more to say, but changed his mind and trotted off toward the gym.  My friends, that boy would have a long wait, because I had no intention of meeting Prince Charming unless it was at the business end of Grandpa’s shotgun.