“Listen, Honey,” Barbara began, “today man’s justice might have seemed light, but
God will deal with the boy.”
“Sure, Mom, the same God who let that jerk kill Steve is going to deal with him now.
I don’t think so. But I can and I will.” Meg’s words were sharp, vindictive. It was
clear she planned to follow through on her promise.
Meg now had no use for sleep. She stayed up, formulating and writing down plans of
retribution in a journal. The scenarios she spun were gory and cruel. No longer did
she dream of cutting brake lines or mowing him down with bullets, her new plans were
much simpler, much less lethal, and were things she could actually accomplish. She
wanted to haunt him until she’d driven him over the edge. At the very least, she wanted
him to make a mistake and violate his parole. At most, she wanted to drive him so
far and so hard that he would actually
think about killing himself rather than live in the same world as Meg.
She knew that to accomplish her goal she would have to devote herself to this task
like she had never devoted herself to anything in her life. Every waking hour would
have to be spent in developing new plans, getting information, doing surveillance,
and planning execution. And she was willing to give up everything else in her life
in order to make this project a success.
Steve was dead and Nancy was not here to temper her mind-set. There was no one who
now could hold a mirror up to her and demand she see what she’d become. Internet searches
and message boards kept her up most of the night. They also gave her ideas. And she
could begin putting those ideas into action almost immediately.
Having taken a week of vacation for the trial, she didn’t have to go back to work
until the following Monday. So, on Friday morning, after a few hours of sleep, she
began to gather ammunition. Taking a picture of Steve from her desk and obtaining
a photo of his car from the insurance company —the photo showing the bloodstained
interior—she scanned them into her computer, worked with Photoshop, and printed off
one hundred copies of her artwork. She then went to the high school, got past security
using her nurse’s ID, purchased an extra yearbook, cut a headshot of Jim Thomas from
the book, and took that photo back home. She scanned the image then began designing
the page. She placed “WANTED” in big, bold type at the top. On the bottom she added
text that read, “This man is guilty of murder. He is probably armed and dangerous
and if apprehended see that he is delivered straight to hell.” She then sized and
pasted his picture in the middle. She printed out 250 copies of the new poster.
Picking up both stacks of printed work, she got into her car, and drove by Jim Thomas’s
home. Seeing an old man mowing the grass in front of the house, she stopped, and through
some casual conversation, discovered which of the many windows led to the teenager’s
room.
From there, she went back to the high school. Once inside, she cornered a young lady
who was walking down the hall between classes and discovered which one of the hall
lockers belonged to Thomas. Taking tape from her purse, she taped the two posters
she’d made on the locker and left the building.
Fifteen minutes later, while Meg was waiting just outside the building, the final
bell rang, and in a few seconds the kids hit the doors and headed toward the parking
lot. One by one she scanned their faces, looking for his, wanting to see the shocked
expression that she knew her surprise would bring.
Suddenly, walking beside Kristen Jennings, there he was. Unnoticed, she fell in a
safe distance behind the two of them in an attempt to overhear what was being said.
“It was just some kid’s idea of a sick joke,” the girl said. “One of your friends
is playing with you.”
“I don’t know,” Thomas answered, “that woman said she would haunt me and maybe she’s
going to. This might be just the start.”
“Well,” Kristen said, “if she gets on your case, then have your father do something
about it. He’s a judge. He’s got the power.”
“No way,” Thomas said, shaking his head to reemphasize the point. “He’s mad about
this. He told me I got off light and now, because of the trial, he may lose his job.
I’m not going to let him know about this. He’d probably help her. Maybe he’s the one
that’s doing it.”
“Oh, you don’t believe that,” Kristen replied.
“No,” the boy admitted, “but he is mad and in big trouble. I wouldn’t put anything
past him.”
Meg stepped out from behind the two of them and moved behind a van. When they were
well up the walk, she hurried back inside the school, waved at the security officer
who’d let her pass earlier, stopped and chatted with him about the spring weather,
and then moved down the hall. When no one was looking she folded up two more pictures
and slipped them into Thomas’s locker through the vents.
As she walked back outside, the pair was driving off in Kristen’s blue Dodge Stratus.
She made a mental note of the car before hurrying back to her own apartment. As soon
as she got home, she used the Internet to search for anything that might have the
boy’s cell number. She was shocked when she found it listed on one of the local sports
club websites under “contact information.” Writing it down, she made a trip to five
phone stores and purchased several different prepaid cell phones. She registered each
in a different name.
Heading back to her apartment, she put the second phase of her plan into operation.
Calling Thomas’s cell, she waited for him to answer.
“Hello,” the young man’s voice sounded distant and a little unsteady.
Meg said nothing.
“Hello,” Thomas said again. “Who is this?”
Again, Meg said nothing. When he finally hung up, Meg smiled. She waited five minutes
and then picked up the next phone.
Again, he answered, and once more she said nothing.
Waiting ten minutes, Meg called again. This time the line was busy. Alternating phones
Meg continued to call the number for the rest of the afternoon and each time the result
was the same. She knew that for at least one night she had
taken Jim Thomas’s phone away from him. But that was just the start.
After dinner, she grabbed the phone book, and once again scanned the numbers until
she came to the name Jennings. Stopping when she discovered a number that matched
Kristen’s address, she noted it and called.
“Hello,” an older female voice answered.
“Hello, Mrs. Jennings?”
“Yes.”
Meg, using a Texas accent she picked up from being around Cheryl, continued, “I hope
that I haven’t disturbed you. My name is Jenny McCall, and I just moved here from
Atlanta. Anyway, your daughter, Kristen, is in a couple of my classes and she has
been such a big help. I was wondering if I could talk to her a moment about an assignment.”
“I’m afraid she’s out right now,” Mrs. Jennings answered. “Maybe she could call you
tomorrow.”
“Oh, no,” Meg replied. “I’ve got to get this research book back to her by then. Goodness.
Well, maybe I could catch her somewhere. Do you know where she might have gone?”
“Let me think a second. Of course, she and her boyfriend were going to see that new
movie down at the Multiplex tonight. Something about vampires.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jennings. Maybe I can catch her there.”
Meg grabbed the paper and opened to the theater listings. Checking her watch, she
grabbed a couple of flyers and headed out the door. When she arrived at the theater,
she searched the parking lot, found Kristen’s car, and slipped two more flyers under
the driver’s side wiper. Then, taking white shoe polish out of her purse, she wrote
the word
killer
in bold letters over the passenger’s side of the windshield. Returning to her car,
she waited for the show to let out.
A few minutes later, she saw the two teens walking arm and arm out the door. Both
seemed perfectly at ease until the moment Thomas saw the shoe polish. Running to the
Dodge, he grabbed the two flyers from under the wiper, took a quick look at them,
and threw them down.
“Come on,” he exclaimed. “We’ve got to get this off before someone sees it. Get in
and get the washer working.”
“It doesn’t work, Jim . . . no fluid,” the girl explained.
“Well, have you got a towel or something?” There was now panic in Thomas’s voice.
“We can’t leave here until this comes off.”
“I have some tissues,” Kristen said, digging through her purse.
Meg eased the car window up, turned on the ignition key, and pulled out to the main
street. Then she pulled over into a parallel parking spot and waited.
When the blue Dodge came out of the parking lot, she followed it. Kristen and Thomas
rumbled down the drag for about a mile before stopping at a teenager hangout called
Ron’s. There the two got out of the car, went in, and sat at a booth in the back.
A few moments later, Meg followed them as far as inside the front door.
“Hey, Betty,” a raspy female voice cried to another waitress, “could you get that
back booth?”
The woman then looked at Meg. “Table, Sweetie?”
“Just looking for someone,” Meg replied.
Meg observed a large woman in her forties, take a huge bite on a Twinkie and then
go to the back to fill up a couple of glasses with water and ice. Noting the menus
positioned on the corner of the counter, she picked up the top two, stuffed a wanted
poster in each one, and put them back on the stack. Then Meg carefully strolled across
the floor, taking a place in
the booth that backed up to the one where Kristen and Thomas were sitting.
“Hi, kids,” Betty’s cheery voice boomed out as she placed the water and menus in front
of the teens. “Y'all take your time, I’ll be back in a moment.”
Meg observed in a mirror as Thomas took a long drink from the glass, opened his menu,
and gasped. “How did she know we were here?”
Kristen whispered, “How did
who
know that we were coming here?”
“Look in your menu,” he ordered. “No,” reaching across and taking it from her, “let
me.”
The young man literally tore the menu open and was greeted by a smiling picture of
Steve Richards. Kristen reached across the table and grabbed the other menu containing
the photo of the car. Both of the teens shook their heads and closed the folders.
Satisfied, Meg quickly got up from her booth and exited by a side door. Stopping back
by the old Dodge, she placed two more flyers under the wipers, jumped into her car,
and sped off. Her first day of retribution had gone well.
T
HE NEXT DAY BEGAN WITH TWO MORE CALLS TO
T
HOMAS
’
S NUMBER
. Neither was answered. Satisfied she had him spooked, Meg typed a short letter on
her Macbook Pro and hit print. She grinned as she read it.
“Dear Jim, looking forward to having you join me at the cemetery. Steve.”
Placing the note in an envelope and printing Thomas’s address on it, she walked to
the nearest box and dropped it into the mail. Returning home, she opened the
Herald
. Checking the sports page, she noted that Springfield High had a home baseball game
that day, and a story on the game indicated Thomas would be playing first base rather
than pitching. She made plans to get there early and sit right behind the dugout.
With the temperature in the seventies, it was a beautiful day for baseball. But as
the teams warmed up, Meg was hoping the sky would quickly turn gloomy for Springfield’s
star player. She waved and smiled as he looked her way. Maybe it was feeling her eyes
on him that caused him to strike out every time he got to the plate. His fielding
wasn’t much as it was his error on an easy ground ball that cost the team the game.
When he got on the bus to make the trip from the field to the high school,
he discovered a wanted poster taped to the door. Looking out the window, he noted
Meg sitting alone in the stands staring at him.
That night as he got in from his date with Kristen, Meg was waiting. She had already
taped a wanted poster to the outside of his bedroom window facing inside the room.
She didn’t have to wait long to wonder if he saw it. Within thirty minutes of getting
home, he appeared in his sleep pants and a T-shirt, raced around the corner of the
yard and tore the poster off the window.
A few minutes later, when a happy Meg returned home, she found Heather sitting on
her steps. She couldn’t fathom why the nurse would be waiting on her.
“What are you doing here?” Meg inquired. “It’s past midnight. Shouldn’t you be home
or on a date or something?”
An obviously distraught Heather looked up and mournfully wailed, “I need to talk to
someone.”
“Well, come on in.” After Heather had entered and the door had been closed, Meg asked,
“Want a Coke?”
Heather simply nodded.
As Meg fixed the two drinks, she bluntly asked, “What’s the problem?”
“It’s Paul,” Heather answered, her gaze never leaving the floor. “He hasn’t called
me or gone out with me since last Monday.”
“Well,” Meg offered, “he’s a doctor and he’s busy.”
“Yeah, going out with other women,” Heather quickly shot back. Taking the Coke from
Meg, Heather continued her woeful tale. “He hasn’t even called me since the other
night”—tears filled Heather’s eyes and her bottom lip trembled as she moaned—”when
I, well, when we . . .” She paused again. “When I slept with him.”
“Well,” Meg said with a sigh, “I guess he got what he wanted and now has moved on.
I wouldn’t worry too much, you’ll get over it.”
Looking up, Heather replied angrily, “Meg, you told me to do it! And that’s all you’ve
got to say?”
“What are you talking about?” Meg argued. “I didn’t tell you anything of the sort.”
“No, that’s not true.” There was now a building rage evident in Heather’s voice. “You
told me it was time to give it up. Life was short and all that rot.”
“No,” Meg quickly denied the accusations. “I told you that it was your choice. And
if you came over here to blame me for your going to bed with someone, forget it. Losing
your virginity isn’t as traumatic as losing a husband and being raped by the court
system. I don’t have any patience for people who can’t handle their own problems.
Especially when they’re as small and insignificant as this one. In case you hadn’t
noticed, you’re a big girl now. You made your bed and what’s bothering you is that
you slept in it, too.”