Meg took another long sip from her Coke. She couldn’t believe that Heather was so
upset over this. After all, she didn’t have cancer; she wasn’t dying! “So Paul dumped
you. If you’re going to be mad at someone, try him. Bother him in the middle of the
night, not me. I have enough problems of my own! I don’t have time for trivial stuff
like this.”
Jumping up from her seat, Heather shouted, “I thought you were my friend. I stuck
by you when everyone else cringed when they saw you on the street. I was wrong about
you. You don’t care about anything or anyone other than yourself.” Picking up her
purse, she stormed across the room, turned the knob on the door, and jerked it open.
Pausing, she spun around and glared at Meg. “Of course, you couldn’t care about me.
You can’t feel or express love to anyone anymore. You’re so tied up in hate you’ve
lost whatever it was that made you a human being.”
Heather’s eyes dropped to the posters resting on the coffee table. “What’s that all
about?”
“Part of my plan to make Jim Thomas pay,” Heather shot back. “There’s much more to
it. He’s going to feel every bit of pain that I felt and more.”
Heather shook her head. “I don’t know what you’ve become, but it’s not human. The
Meg I knew wasn’t capable of anything like this. The kid’s going to pay! What he did
will haunt him forever. Everyone is saying his dad’s going to lose his job, too. You
don’t have to do this. You’ve already won.”
“Steve’s dead,” Meg spat. “Thomas is alive! The score is no where near equal.”
“Meg, look in the mirror. Take a look yourself. You’re ugly! Hate is stealing your
soul faster than cancer took Nancy’s life. What do you think she would think about
you now? Maybe it’s good she’s dead. She believed in you. And what about Steve? What
would he say?”
“Don’t you dare talk about Steve,” Meg screamed.
“I feel sorry for that baby you’re carrying. You should have gotten an abortion. The
child would’ve been luckier. Evidently, Steve was the only thing that brought out
the good in you. I thought when the trial was over you’d be back. But the old Meg
is lost and she might as well be buried with Steve and Nancy. You’ve become a monster!”
After a deep breath, she turned and slammed the door behind her.
Meg stared down at one of the posters. Her friend was right. She was no longer the
person she once was. Yet being that person wouldn’t serve her purposes now. If she
were the old Meg, she’d be too soft. If she let her heart care about others, then
she might stop this campaign. She couldn’t do that because then Steve’s killer would
never know the taste of real justice.
S
TILL COGNIZANT OF HER MEETING WITH THE HOSPITAL ADMINISTRATOR
and having to have the job to pay her bills, Meg’s nursing was fine. She didn’t allow
her attitude to spill over at the hospital. Still she was not the warm professional
that she had been in the past. Now her nursing had a stiff mechanical feel. She was
polite, but distant. She was not warm, but not cold. Patients were not drawn to her,
but they were not repelled either. She had become a walking, talking machine not much
different than those used in rooms to monitor conditions.
However, there was an undercurrent at the hospital that Willis would have found disturbing,
if he’d taken the time to discover it. The other nurses avoided anything more than
professional communication with Meg. They resorted to this because she either ignored
them or tossed out sarcastic jibes as a response to any of their observations. So
rather than take the abuse, they just quit talking to her except concerning professional
issues. No one even sat by her during meals.
Ironically, Meg found the other nurses’ silent treatment refreshing. She loved being
left alone. This allowed her the opportunity to lock herself in her own world and
her own
thoughts, thus giving her time to work on what she really felt was important in her
life—the haunting of Jim Thomas.
She had done a good job of this. Over the course of three months since the trial,
she had made his life a complete wreck. Through constant Google searches, she’d found
new ways to pop up and haunt him. She used Facebook and texts to her advantage. She’d
grown so good at it that Thomas rarely checked either. He’d quit going to his favorite
hangouts because she seemed to always be there. He also looked as if he’d lost over
ten pounds and there were dark circles under his now almost lifeless eyes. He had
developed nervous twitches, had quit the baseball team, and couldn’t even go outside
without constantly looking over his shoulder. Even when she was hidden and he couldn’t
see her, Meg noted that Thomas jumped every time he saw a pregnant woman or a Mustang.
Through one of Steve’s old friends, a school administrator, she’d discovered the youth’s
grades had fallen to the point where he had barely graduated. But these obvious outward
signs were only the beginning.
Now, rather than toss Meg’s posters away, she discovered through high school gossip
circles that he kept them in a stack on his desk. He no longer answered his phone.
When anyone called, he’d just sit and count the rings. He didn’t go to movies or watch
television. He’d become so withdrawn and sullen, his friends had quit calling him
and Kristen had broken up with him.
With Thomas all but a prisoner in his own home, Meg was winning the war. After his
graduation, the only times he went out were for his community service work and alcohol
counseling sessions. Yet, besides Meg, no one really noticed. His friends, enjoying
all the fun summer offered, had moved on and his parents were too wrapped up trying
to save their reputations to think much about their only son. In fact, they blamed
him for all their problems.
So, in a way, because it was becoming so easy to win, the haunting was now becoming
boring. There had been far more satisfaction in watching Jim sweat, in seeing him
tear up flyers and wonder where she was going to be next. He still had some fire then.
But she had killed his cocky attitude, his flash, ruined his daily life, and driven
him completely inside himself. With the challenge gone, the results weren’t nearly
as dramatic or satisfying.
Ever since the trial, it had been Meg’s after-work routine to drive by the Thomas’s
home. Even though she hadn’t seen the young man outside in over three weeks, she still
continued to make the trip, occasionally planting a flyer or poster, sometimes even
parking across the street and sitting and watching. But now, he was never outside
to smile at or wave to. On a misty July 15, she almost decided to go directly home,
to give up her surveillance. She was tired and the weather looked like it would get
worse. But, whether from habit or a devotion to her goal, she once again turned left
instead of right and made the trip to Walnut Street. As her wipers swept the mist
from her window and the lighting flashed and thunder rolled, promising much heavier
weather very soon, she was surprised to see Jim Thomas sitting on the curb in front
of his home.
As she got closer, she noticed he was looking directly at her car, his eyes fixed
on the driver’s side. His unblinking stare unnerved her a bit and for the first time
in weeks, she felt as if she wasn’t controlling the situation. Her instincts demanded
that she speed off or turn around, but with chills racing down her spine, she eased
off the accelerator and slowed down. Still, she wouldn’t have stopped if he hadn’t
stood up and waved at her.
Pulling over to the curb, she turned off the car and stared intently at the boy. He
looked ragged and worn. He was barefoot, dressed in old jeans and a T-shirt. His hair
was damp
from the mist and his expression was drawn. As he exhibited no signs of hostility,
she opened her door, pulled her obviously pregnant body out of the car, and slowly
walked around the front of her car to the curb. And for the first time since that
one occasion in the courtroom, she confronted Jim Thomas, one-on-one, face-to-face.
“Hi,” the boy meekly greeted her.
“You want something?” Meg inquired coldly.
Studying her for a moment, Thomas responded, “Only to tell you that I wish it had
been me and not him. I wish that I had never been born. I’m sorry for what happened.”
“That makes two of us,” Meg spat back. “But it doesn’t do any good for either of us
to make that wish, does it?”
Looking away, Thomas sighed. “I give up.” Glancing down he whispered, “You win.”
She shook her head. “I lost my husband. I can’t win.”
Raising his face to where he looked directly into her eyes, he moaned, “I’m eaten
up with guilt. It is not just you; it’s my own lies. I lied on the stand, even lied
to myself. I’d rather go to prison than face you. No matter how bad it is, it can’t
be as bad as this. You said you’d meet me in hell, well welcome to it. I’m there and
you are, too!”
“You’re not there yet,” she tossed back. “You’ve got a long way to go.”
“Listen, lady, I was drinking Buffalo Scotch on that night.” His words trailed off
as if he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.
“You mean the night you killed my husband?” she spat.
He nodded. “And now I’m drinking it again just so I can go to sleep at night. And
you know what is the worst thing in my life?”
“Me?” Meg offered.
“No, it’s just that my parents, my friends, none of them know what is happening to
me. They don’t pay enough attention to even notice what I’m doing. My friends think
I was lucky to get off and my folks think I’m the family loser who messed up their
perfect world.
“Listen, Mrs. Richards. I don’t really blame you for doing what you’ve been doing.
I mean, at first, I was really put out, but then I got to thinking about your being
pregnant and all and what you went through on the stand, and I get it.”
He glanced back at his home and almost under his breath muttered, “But please understand
this, when I got in the car that night, all I wanted to do was have some fun. Not
kill somebody. I mean, I still can’t believe that I did it.”
He studied her face. The only thing there was Meg’s hatred.
“You know this morning”—the boy’s blue eyes now looked right into hers—“I rode my
bike over and spent some time at his grave. I wanted to apologize, but I found out
I couldn’t. Not to him anyway. It was too late.”
Thomas stopped for a moment, as if searching for words then continued, “There is no
way I can make it all up to you. I know that. And I’m feeling like you do—I wish that
they’d put me in jail or something. You know,” he looked past her to the house across
the street, “my friends still go out drinking and driving. They didn’t learn anything.
When I tried to get through to ’em, they just laughed and said they can handle it
and wouldn’t get caught.”
He paused and threw his hands in the air. “I’m not making any sense, but what you’ve
done, well, it’s working. I’m paying, I’m feeling it, and, well, you know . . .”
As she began to speak, Meg’s voice was hard and her words flew quickly from a mouth
dripping with hate. “It has only been three months since I began my little exercise
in justice. And you know, I’ve lost a lot of sleep, missed a lot of TV, screwed up
every relationship that I’ve ever had, but it has been worth it. Just four or five
months ago you were so cocky and proud. You even hit on me. Then at the trial you
came down a little. But now, you look as though you can barely walk. Well, for some
folks that would be enough, but not me.”
The youth looked back at the woman and pleaded, “What do you want, lady? I’ll do whatever
it is you want.”
“Justice,” Meg replied. “I want an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. I want
you to crawl and beg and I want to watch it happen. I want you to rot in hell. And
I don’t even know if that will satisfy me. I do know it’s not enough for what you
did to my husband.”
“Listen, Mrs. Richards,” Thomas pleaded. “You’ve already ruined my life . . .”
Her sharp laugh cut him off.
“Your life? No, I’ve only ruined three months—ninety short days. That’s just the beginning
of a life. There’s a lot more to it than just that. You’re young, and I’ve got a lot
more time to make you pay!”
Convinced that there was nothing more to say, she reached into the passenger seat
of her car and pulled out a box. Handing it to him, she smiled and said, “Thought
you might want some more posters.”
Walking back around the front of her car, she got in, waved, and shouted, “See you
soon.” She took one last look at her victim, switched on the starter, and hit the
gas. In her rearview mirror, she watched as he turned and slowly walked to his front
door.
Meg had never felt more alive. Her heart was pumping a wild rushing torrent of blood
through her body. Her baby, kicking up a storm in the confines of her womb, seemed
to be enjoying this moment just as much as she was. When she got to the apartment,
despite being almost six months along, she
almost flew up the steps to her front door. Just as she unlocked it, the phone rang.
“Hello.” Meg said, her voice almost gleeful.
“Hi, this is Heather,” an unemotional voice began. “I tried to come up with someone
else, but no one else could do it. Would you work the graveyard in the emergency room
for me tonight? I’ve got a terrible headache, and I just can’t shake it. I may be
coming down with the bug that everybody else has. I think making it through the shift
would just be too much.”
“Sure,” Meg answered without a moment’s hesitation.
Heather had probably expected Meg to turn her down. She hadn’t worked an extra shift
or switched out for a couple of months. So, Heather sounded shocked when Meg not only
responded in the affirmative but didn’t complain about the late call.
“You will? I appreciate it, Meg. I owe you one for this.”
Meg’s singing voice replied, “No, you don’t. Just get well soon.”
“Meg, you know with this virus going around you may not have much help tonight.”