Evangeline

I GOT AN early start the last day of my Nashville stay. It would take me over two hours to drive to the warehouse from the hotel, and I wanted to get there before dark. I had a feeling I’d be working late and needed to make sure I left myself enough time to clean up and close shop before I flew back to Boston.

I found the variety of commercial spaces available in a place like Nashville to be extremely convenient. There were obviously plenty of garages, long term storage lockers, and the like in Boston, but I never worked from home. It was one of my steadfast rules. Even if I should come across a potential client at the corner market, there was no working in Boston. I tried to avoid Massachusetts entirely, if possible.

Unfortunately, I’ve had to work in the state twice. Both times were unavoidable.

Traffic out of the city center wasn’t too bad and I made it to the warehouse in record time. Craig’s Self-Service Storage and Repair wasn’t the best place in town. It wasn’t even the cheapest. It was, however, remote, payable by cash, free of security cameras, and private. In fact, the whole time I’d been there, I’d never seen another customer or staff member on the premises. In truth, Craig’s was a front for a small-time criminal organization run by two Russian brothers, Boris and Ivan Vasili.

They smuggled black market goods out of the gulf states to Russia three or four times a year, and I was well acquainted with their shipping schedules and cargo manifests. Of course, they didn’t have a clue that I knew any of this, and as long as the brothers never moved girls, I had no intention of getting in the way of their business. All I needed was a suitable workspace and absolute privacy, and Craig’s provided both. By now, I had spots like this set up around the country. Out of the way, non-descript, workspaces, where I could be left alone to my work. My art. My therapy. Last night I dropped off my cash payment in the office lock box slot as usual, along with my tools and canvas, which I locked up in my assigned bay.

I pulled the rental car into bay number five, at the far end of the complex, and parked as close to the exit as possible. If someone was to show up unexpectedly, I wanted the quickest path out of here. Plus, the further away I parked from the workspace, the less chance of getting anything on the car while I worked.

I did a thorough check of the property and verified that I was the only paying occupant of Craig’s. In fact, according to the private and secured company calendar I had no problem accessing, I’d have the place to myself all week if needed. I wouldn’t, of course, but loved the idea of taking an entire week to work on one project. The idea seemed like a luxury but in truth I didn’t think I’d have the kind of restraint needed to wait a whole week to bring a piece to its conclusion. This one I’d been researching for over two months, and I couldn’t wait to get started. This one was an especially personal undertaking, and my head was buzzing with new ideas.

Crossing the shop floor, I made my way to the only enclosed room in the space. A ten-by-ten-foot room with a window overlooking the shop. Inside the room was a metal office desk, and a row of three upright lockers where I’d stowed my gear and canvas. I dialed the combination on the pad lock securing the first locker, removing my toolkit, and setting it on top of the desk, pausing before opening the second locker.

I pressed my ear against the sheet metal door, listening for signs of life of Craig’s Self-Service Storage and Repair only other current occupant.

The occupant of locker number two was my guest. His name was Barry Holland and until last night, I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in over a decade. In fact, he didn’t recognize me at all when I approached him at the Hotel Garmond bar and asked if he needed company for the night. I didn’t fault him for not recognizing me. After all, I was wearing a disguise, and it had been so long since he’d last seen me.

––––––––

“Thank you, but I’m married,” he said, tapping his chubby, ringed finger against the side of his glass.

“So are most of my clients,” I replied.

He chuckled softly. “I’ll bet that’s true.”

“Can you at least buy a lady a drink?”

“Now you’re in luck, because I hate to drink alone and I happen to love redheads” he replied, flagging the bar waitress who came directly to our table.

“Yes, sir. May I get something for either of you?”

“Another Macallan eighteen for me please,” Barry replied.

“I’ll have the same,” I said.

Barry tipped his nearly empty glass to me. “A woman of taste, I see.”

“When a man of taste is buying,” I replied. I told him my name was Chloe, and that this hotel bar was my favorite place to connect with potential clients, as I always found them to be what I considered high caliber men. The truth was I was only here because this is the hotel Barry checked into. I also knew from experience, that as long as I stroked his ego, Barry would remain a captive audience. Soon he would simply be my captive.

Barry smiled and introduced himself. He told me he was travelling on business, which was true, and that he was in the luxury car trade, which was a lie. He also told me he lived in Miami, but of course I knew that in truth, Barry Holland was a sales representative for Duplass Modular Sheds in Sandusky, Ohio. He was married with two children and held roughly sixty-three thousand dollars in credit card debt. His wife, Sheila, was a junior-high school vice principal, and unbeknownst to her husband, had twelve thousand dollars of her own money socked away in a private savings account. She’d also been fucking the art teacher at her school for the past nine months. Something else Barry didn’t know about.

I knew because I always did my homework. Every project started with a thorough and comprehensive investigation. Lucky for me, locating and investigating subjects is easier than ever before thanks to social media profiles, weak passwords, and everything from personal calendars to financial records being stored on the cloud.

“Personally I’d take the Audi RS Q8 over the Mercedies 300 SLR every day of the week,” Barry said, droning on, trying to impress me with his knowledge of high end cars.

I acted like I was taking in his every word, making sure to stroke his ego every change I got. I knew full well that Barry would never take the bait I was dangling in front of him, as I was way too old for him, but I didn’t need him to. All I needed was for him to relax and drop his guard long enough for me to drug him, and for everyone in the bar to believe Barry was just some drunk businessman chatting with a hotel bar hooker. That way, no one would think twice when we left together, even if Barry’s steps might be a bit wobbly.

“Oh, no,” I said, interrupting Barry’s fascinating lecture on torque ratios.

“What is it darlin’?”

“I forgot to ask the waitress for a cherry.”

“I don’t see her anywhere,” Barry said, craning his neck to look for her. Of course, I’d waited until I saw her leave the area before I made my ‘discovery.’

“Can you be a doll and get me a cherry from bar?” I asked.

“It would be my pleasure, Miss Chloe,” he replied.

As soon as he was out of sight, I opened the vile of tranquilizer I had in my pocket and emptied it into Barry’s drink. I’d experimented with several drugs over the years and eventually landed on a mixture of Midazolam, Rohypnol, and Ketamine that I’d dubbed “Nightfall.” I needed my subjects to be highly suggestable, completely at ease with me, and able to move around without much assistance. I was five foot, seven inches tall and weighed one-hundred-twenty-five pounds and couldn’t move a full-grown man around all by myself.

“I got you two,” Barry said, returning to the table dangling two maraschinos by their stems.

“You’re so sweet,” I said, smiling as wide as possible.

Barry sat back down, and we continued our conversation as we finished our drinks.

“Careful,” Barry said, pointing to my glass. “This stuff packs a punch.”

“Feeling pretty good, huh?” I asked innocently.

Barry tugged at his shirt collar before loosening his tie. “To be honest, I’m feeling kind of hot.”

“Let’s step outside for a few minutes. You can get some air while I have a puff.” I pulled a vape pen from my pocket and wiggled it in front of him. “Besides, I’ll feel much safer if you’re standing out there with me.”

“Sure, sounds good,” Barry replied.

“I’ll just let the waitress know that we’re not skipping out,” I said. “I’ll meet you outside.”

Barry nodded and headed for the exit, and I tracked down our waitress.

“Hi,” I said. “My date and I are going to take a little stroll through the Park. He asked if you could please charge our drinks to his room.”

“Of course, ma’am,” she said.

“And he said this is for you,” I said, giving her a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill.

The waitress smiled and gave me a slight bow. “I hope the two of you have a wonderful evening.”

“I will, anyway,” I retorted, and walked out the door.

––––––––

I opened the locker to find Barry just as I’d left him. Naked, gagged, and cuffed around his wrists and ankles. I’d also secured a shock collar around his neck, a device of my own making, constructed from an S&M bondage collar and two military grade stun guns. It was my way of keeping a subject quiet in my absence. The amped up ‘bark collar’ was powered by a car battery which I’d fitted with an automatic potentiometer. If the wearer of the collar attempted to make a sound, they would receive a highly painful and nearly fatal shock. With each subsequent sound, the amperage delivered would increase slowly but noticeably. So far, no one had pushed the collar to the fatal limit, but I’d bet some wished they had.

“So, how was your day?” I asked in a sing-song tone.

Barry looked like a giant lump of chewing gum, crammed inside the locker. He was hunched over, with his face pressed against one side of the cramped space. He was dripping with sweat, standing in a puddle of his own piss.

I opened my tool kit and took out my gun, a Baretta 9mm compact, pointing it at Barry’s head. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to uncuff your ankles and take the collar off you. Then you’re gonna step slowly out of the locker and walk out to the shop. Do anything I don’t like, and I will shoot you in the balls, then in the face, in that order. Do you understand?”

Barry nodded, so I unlocked the collar, letting it drop to the floor, before uncuffing one ankle.

“Okay, now step out slowly,” I said, keeping my gun trained on him.

Barry took one uneasy step outside the locker before falling, face down onto the cement floor, whimpering in pain as his body connected with the concrete.

I let out a quiet tsk. “Looks like your legs fell asleep there, big boy. That’s okay. We’ll wait a few minutes to get the blood flowing again before we proceed. I’d hate for you to develop a blood clot. Those things can kill you, ya know?” I slung the toolkit over my shoulder.

Barry writhed on the floor, desperately trying to talk, but only able to produce muffled screams.

“I feel like you want to tell me something,” I said to a series of excited groans and grunts. “If I remove your gag, do you promise not to yell?”

Barry nodded.

“Good, because it’s pointless. No one is here to save you, and I hate listening to grown men cry.”

I pressed the barrel of the Baretta into Barry’s temple with my right hand, while removing his gag with the other.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begged through gasps and chokes.

“Who said anything about killing you?” I asked, innocently.

“Please,” he continued. “I have money. I can pay you whatever you want.”

“Oh, Barry, please don’t embarrass yourself. We both know you’re a middle-class, suburban jackass with a mountain of credit card debt and a refinanced house that’s twenty years from being paid off. Your kids have more tooth fairy money than you have in the bank.”

“H...how...how do you know that, and w...what do you want from me?”

I stood up and waved the gun toward the door. “Your legs should be working good enough by now. Get up and walk out to the shop.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the woman who’s going to put a bullet in your tiny nut sack if you don’t get up and walk.”

Barry got to his feet, and we made our way to the shop floor. In the center of the space was a hydraulic engine hoist, from which hung a heavy iron chain with a hook on the end.

“Raise your arms,” I ordered.

“Please, you don’t have to do this,” Barry whined.

I dug the barrel of my gun into his temple. “Raise your arms and hook them up.”

Once he’d done as instructed, I made my way to the hoist’s control panel, powered it up, and using the joystick, raised Barry about a foot off the ground, causing him to cry out in pain as his arms threatened to leave their sockets.

“That’s better,” I taunted. “Dangling on the end of a hook, like the worm you are.”

“What do you want from me? Please tell me and I swear I’ll give it to you,” Barry begged through sobs.

“I know you will,” I said, wheeling the shop’s large industrial step ladder into place beside him. “Because the only thing I want from you is your suffering.”

Barry’s sobs turned to blubbering. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’d save my tears if I were you. They don’t have any effect on me, and you’re gonna need them more later. Because whatever pain and fear you’re feeling is nothing compared to what’s coming. This here, right now is as good as it gets for you, Barry. You and I have a long night ahead of us. An awfully long night.”

Barry wriggled and jerked his body to no avail. “Who are you and why are you doing this?”

“I’m doing this because you pay to have sex with underaged girls. You rape children, Barry.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have the wrong guy.”

“Lie all you want. It makes no difference. We both know the truth about who you are and what you do. Besides, I never forget a man once he’s been inside me.”

Tears streamed down Barry’s face. “I swear to god if you let me go, I’ll turn myself in to the police. Or you can turn me in yourself. Just don’t hurt me.”

I laughed. “Does this seem like a law-and-order type of situation to you? If I wanted you inside a jail cell you’d be in one. No, you’re right where I want you. As to my identity, my name is Evangeline Monroe, but you knew me as Angel.”

I removed my red wig and let fall onto the tarp I’d laid out on the floor.

Barry squinted. “Angel?”

“That’s right.”

He shook his head vigorously, his jowls flapping violently. “No, no. You have the wrong guy. I don’t know you, after all. I don’t know anyone named Angel.”

“You knew me when I was fourteen years old, you piece of shit. I was one of Tony Sugar’s girls. Back in Detroit.”

Barry’s eyes widened.

I climbed the step ladder so that I was eye level with Barry. “You remember me and I sure as hell remember you.”

“I’m sorry. I...I...I’m so sorry. That’s not who I am now. I swear!” Barry groveled. “I have a family.”

“A family who’ll be much better off without a pedophile like you in it.”

“I promise, I’ve changed. I swear to you.”

“Men like you are incapable of change,” I replied. “So, save your breath for screaming. Besides, this isn’t a trial, it’s judgement night. Tonight, the scales of justice will be balanced.”

“I’m begging you. Please don’t make my wife a widow. If you let me go, I swear I’ll pay you whatever you ask. I’ll find a way.”

“My scales aren’t balanced with money, Barry. They’re balanced with flesh. You partook in my flesh all those years ago, so now I’m going to partake in yours. You must admit, it’s only fair.”

Barry continued to thrash and wriggle, screaming out for help in vain.

“You’re exactly as I remember you,” I said, staring into his bloodshot eyes. “You were a self-important blowhard then as much as you are now. A gluttonous pig of a man, who’s in love with the sound of his own voice. A child rapist and torturer.”

“Now, now, now, wait a minute. I n...never raped or tortured anyone. I paid for sex, that’s all.”

“You paid to have sex with children. Children who were delivered to you against their will. Children who were beaten, drugged, and gang raped into submission so sick bastards like you can do whatever you want with us.”

“I’m sorry,” Barry cried.

I shook my head. “You’re not sorry. Not yet.”

I rolled out my toolkit on the top platform of the ladder. Removing a pair of tin snips from their designated pocket.

“Once a month for almost two years, Tony sent me to your room at the Royal Harbor Motel. Inside that room you proceeded to stick your pathetic little dick in every one of my “sweet little holes” as you were so fond of saying. But that wasn’t the worst of it. No, the thing I remember the most about our little visits was how you’d force me to suck on your toes while you jerked yourself off. I remember it was the only way you could come. Every time you’d put your disgusting sausage toes in my mouth, it took every ounce of strength I had not to bite them off. Well, not anymore.” I raised the tin snips to his eyes.

“Oh, god. No.”

I smiled wide. “Tonight, you’re gonna find out how much fun it is to have your toes inside your mouth. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

Barry continued to thrash around as I made my way back down the ladder, begging and pleading for me to stop. Unable to comprehend the absolute futility of his words. Bargaining with me as if I were human. But he, and all the others like him, had turned me into something inhuman a long time ago. Now all I lived for was my work.

For justice.

Vengeance.

I started with his left pinky toe.

Snip.