Hillary_Retribution

by Angel Gelique

  ~6~

  Hillary felt awkward and extremely out of place at the Baptist church the following morning. It took all of her willpower to stay put at Miss Billie’s side while the dark faces around her stared questioningly.

  “Pastor Louie,” Miss Billie said cordially, “I’d like you to meet my new friend, Caleigh.”

  Pastor Louie knew what Miss Billie meant whenever she introduced him to a “new friend.” It meant that Miss Billie had taken another child off the street in hopes of saving his or her soul. Pastor Louie knew it was a most noble, righteous act. But Pastor Louis also knew that it came at a price. Miss Billie wasn’t just here to say hello. She was here to ask for money.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Caleigh,” the Pastor said with a warm smile and a nod of his head. “Any friend of Miss Billie’s is a friend of mine.”

  Hillary smiled but remained silent.

  “You know, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around here. Where are you from if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Great, Hillary thought, another interview. She quickly recalled that she had told Miss Billie that she was from Maryland.

  “Maryland,” she replied softly.

  “Oh yeah? I have lots of relatives in Maryland. Which part?”

  “Uh, Baltimore,” she replied. She didn’t know any other towns in Maryland, just its capital and Bethesda—the place she needed to go.

  “Oh my goodness,” he said in amazement, “that’s where my folks are from!”

  Hillary began to get nervous. What if this man caught her in a lie? What help would she get then?

  “This is a real pretty church,” she said to change the subject.

  “Why, thank you Miss Caleigh. That’s very kind of you to say. As you can see, there’s a lot of fixin’ up that needs to be done, but yes, as all places of worship are, it’s beautiful.”

  “Pastor Louie,” Miss Billie interjected, “I’s wondering if I might speak with ya privately for a moment.”

  Pastor Louie knew what that meant. He knowingly smirked at Miss Billie.

  “Certainly, Miss Billie. Miss Caleigh, how would you like to help Sondra in the nursery school for a little while?”

  Oh, joy...doesn’t that sound blissful? Hillary thought sarcastically with a fake smile plastered to her face.

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Great, I’ll walk you down,” he said, then turned to Miss Billie and added, “I’ll meet you in my office in five minutes.”

  Miss Billie nodded then headed in the opposite direction. Hillary followed Pastor Louie down a flight of stairs at the end of the hall. She could hear the noise of rowdy children as they approached the brightly colored doors of the nursery school. Pastor Louie pushed open the door on the right and entered a room full of dancing children. There were thirteen of them and they all looked very happy to be dancing along to old “Wee Sing” songs.

  “Sondra,” Pastor Louie called to the young black woman at the front of room. She was tall and thin and wore black leggings with a pretty long turquoise peasant-style tunic.

  Sondra walked to the CD player and stopped the music. Most of the kids stopped dancing and singing. A few of them whined about wanting more music.

  “Girls and boys, Pastor Louie is here visiting with us and he’s brought a guest. How do we greet our guests?”

  In near-perfect unison, the children all raised their voices and said, “Welcome to our classroom.” It made Hillary smile. Waving to them, she thanked them for the friendly greeting. But her face soon became clouded. She thought about Joshy, her little brother who was just a month shy of his third birthday when she had viciously murdered him. These kids were about the same age.

  “What’s your name?” One of the little girls in a blue dress asked. Her hair was braided neatly and tied with bright blue ribbons. She stared at Hillary with a wide grin then repeated her question after several seconds had passed without a response.

  “Uh...Hil...Caleigh,” Hillary at last replied, feeling dizzy. She turned and left the room. She was sitting just outside the hall with her back to the wall when Pastor Louie approached.

  “What happened in there? You don’t like kids?”

  How could Hillary explain that she was overwhelmed with conflicting feelings of intense grief and equally intense bloodthirstiness? As bitter thoughts of her baby brother rushed to her mind, she was plagued with the atrocities she had committed against him. Then the tortured cries and twisted faces of all of her other victims flashed in her mind like a diabolical slide show. She found, to her consternation, that it excited her. She missed the thrill of exacting her wrath, the surge of power that accompanied each barbarous kill. She had looked at all of those little kids and had imagined their mangled bodies strewn in pieces throughout the classroom, floating in blood puddles and rivers on the hard floor. She pictured herself slicing into one of those tender bellies and scooping out the warm, wet viscera therein. She imagined using the long, ropy intestines as a jump rope and skipping merrily amidst the bloodied remains. It had been difficult to contain her mental bloodbath. She felt it fill her brain like a malignant infection. There was no doubt in her mind that if she had been alone in that room with those small children, she would have hurt them and hurt them badly, one by one until the room matched the depraved vision in her twisted mind. She didn’t understand where these horrid thoughts came from and as much as they thrilled her, they frightened her as well. Miss Billie was right. She was sick. She was crazy.

  “Are you okay? You don’t look so well....”

  Hillary looked up at the balding middle-aged pastor. She chased the remaining images out of her mind and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She had to get that bus ticket. She couldn’t afford to ruin her chance by acting insane.

  “I’m so sorry Pastor Louie,” Hillary said innocently, “I just got so dizzy...I thought I was going to pass out.”

  “Come,” he said, reaching his hand out to help her up. “Maybe you need a drink of water.”

  Hillary grasped his dry, rough hand and he helped her to stand. He led her to a water fountain and Hillary took a small sip.

  “You feeling any better?”

  “A little,” she answered.

  “You think you might be up to giving Sondra a hand with the kids?”

  “I don’t know, Pastor Louie...maybe there’s something else I could help with?”

  Pastor Louie looked disappointed.

  “I guess I could try,” Hillary added, hoping to gain points with the Pastor.

  “Good girl,” he said cheerfully. “We’re short-handed today. But if you don’t feel so well, just have a seat in the church and Miss Billie and I will meet you there when we’re done chatting.”

  “Okay.”

  Hillary slowly walked back to the rainbow-colored doors and peeked in. It was quiet. The kids were sitting on the carpeted area. Sondra was reading a book.

  I can do this, Hillary thought, I can control myself...I won’t hurt anyone.

  Hillary slowly entered the classroom, hoping that she wouldn’t draw attention to herself and that she could hide in the back.

  “Oh, look kids, our special guest is back.”

  Great. Thanks a lot, Sondra....

  The kids turned their heads to look at Hillary. Some waved, others called to her. The little girl with the blue dress smiled angelically at her. One unruly little boy booed her loudly then laughed mockingly at her.

  “Now Ty, that’s not very nice of you. Can you apologize to...I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

  “Caleigh,” Hillary answered quietly.

  “What a beautiful name. Come, Caleigh, don’t be shy.”

  Caleigh slowly trudged down toward the reading area. She tried her best to avoid the small faces staring at her...those eager faces full of life and promise.

  “Come,” Sondra said, motioning for Hillary to sit next to her. Hillary took sat on the carpet next to Sondra.

  “Criss-cross a
pplesauce!” A Hispanic toddler shouted to her.

  Hillary frowned. Was all of this really worth a bus ticket to Maryland?

  “Oh, he’s telling you to sit the way they’re sitting, with your legs crossed,” Sondra explained.

  Hillary felt incredibly stupid, but did as the small boy had suggested. He smiled at her then seemed to suddenly go shy, burying his face within his lap.

  “Why don’t you finish reading the story for us, Caleigh? We’re on this page.”

  Sondra handed the book over to Hillary and indicated which page they were on.

  “Who can tell Caleigh what’s happening in the story so far?”

  A couple of hands went up eagerly and one girl started to shout out about a snail.

  “No, Missy, you have to raise your hand first.”

  The little girl stopped talking and raised her hand high.

  “How about you, Sasha?”

  A small girl who looked young enough for diapers shook her head fiercely as if Sondra had asked her to jump into a pit of fire. Sondra turned to Hillary and whispered, “She just turned three. She’s very shy. I’ve been trying to get her to be more confident.”

  Hillary gave no indication that she cared about Sasha’s issues or had even heard Sondra talking to her. She sat motionless, looking down at the book in her hands.

  “Okay, go on Bobby.”

  Missy huffed, upset about not being called upon.

  “A boy named John found a snail that told him stories.”

  “Very good, Bobby, and what happened to John?”

  “He ran out of stories and now he doesn’t have friends.”

  “Well, he has friends but they want to hear more stories...different stories. So what does John want to do?”

  “Find the snail again so he can get more stories.”

  “Excellent, Bobby...you were really paying attention, good job! Okay, everyone listen now, and be very quiet ‘cause I don’t think Caleigh has a big mouth like me.”

  After the laughter died down, Sondra motioned for Hillary to start reading. Hillary felt her cheeks burned. Sondra, noticing her reddened face, believed that the girl was just nervous or embarrassed. But Hillary was neither nervous nor embarrassed. She was angry. She wanted to decapitate one of those little happy beings. She fantasized about launching the hard-covered book like a Frisbee at the throat of the little boy directly across from her. She pictured the book lodging deep within his neck, cutting off his cries as he desperately clawed at it. She imagined the sound of his crushed windpipe and the hiss of air escaping from the bloodied edges of his torn throat.

  “Caleigh?” Sondra called to her and Hillary blinked away her daydream. “Don’t be afraid, they’re just toddlers.”

  I’m not afraid of anyone, Hillary thought angrily as she took a deep, exasperated breath. She looked at the position on the book where Sondra was pointing and began to read the remaining pages of Anne Rockwell’s “The Story Snail.”

  While Hillary read on insipidly, Miss Billie urged Pastor Louie to support her latest mission. It didn’t often take much convincing. Miss Billie knew that she was asking an awful lot from the pastor this time. It would cost around three hundred dollars just for the round-trip bus tickets. It would cost another five hundred or so for lodging for about five days. Meals would run a good seventy-five to eighty dollars a day if they ate inexpensively. Miss Billie had nearly five hundred of her own dollars to spend. She had asked for fifteen hundred dollars from the church. Pastor Louie’s bulging eyes had nearly popped out of his head. It was a far cry from the few hundreds she typically requested whenever necessary.

  “There’s just something about that girl,” Pastor Louie was saying. “Her eyes, or something...I don’t know. She looks hollow.”

  “She been through a whole lot, Pastor,” Miss Billie replied in Hillary’s defense.

  “She was awfully uncomfortable around the children.”

  “Maybe she the only child in her fam’ly, I dunno, Pastor. I dunno much ‘bout the child but I do knows she’s just achin’ ta meet her daddy.”

  “Maybe we can contact him—”

  Miss Billie shook her head firmly.

  “No, she ‘fraid that if she don’t see him face-to-face, he gonna just reject her.”

  “Well he might reject her in person too then that would be a big waste of time and money.”

  “No, you’s wrong, Pastor, it ain’t gonna be no waste. I kinda feel like they’s somethin’ strange about that girl too. But I also thinks I can gets through ta her. This li’l road trip o’ ours can work miracles.”

  “Oh Miss Billie, what am I gonna do with you? You know you can’t help every child out there.”

  “No, not ev’ry child, just the ones the good Lord sends my way.”

  The phone in the Pastor’s office rang. Pastor Louie excused himself to answer it.

  “What? Is he hurt bad? Okay, I’ll be there in a minute, try to calm him down.”

  “What happened?” Miss Billie asked.

  “Your ‘new friend’ Caleigh just tripped over one of the kids and may have broken his leg.”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus, how could that have happened?” Miss Billie asked. A frown formed on her round face.

  “That’s what I’m about to find out. Care to join me?”

  “Ya know, would it be all right if I used yo’ computer? I wanna do me a li’l research.”

  “Sure, Miss Billie, go right ahead. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Pastor Louie left the office and Miss Billie walked over to his laptop computer. She had often used his computer to try to find information on her lost flock of sheep, the kids she had rescued from the streets. She would look for them on social media and forums. Sometimes she even got lucky. My, the language some of them used. It broke her heart to see young kids writing such filthy things about one another.

  Miss Billie pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket. It was a makeshift contract that she had drafted last night after she had gone to her bedroom. She had hand-written the terms of their agreement—that she would buy the round-trip tickets and pay for all of the expenses for their trip to Bethesda, Maryland if the girl agreed to the terms she had discussed with her. She had presented the paper to her earlier that morning after breakfast.

  “What’s this?” Hillary had questioned as she opened the folded sheet of paper.

  Miss Billie didn’t answer her. She gave the young teenager the opportunity to review the document. Hillary looked at the large print words. It looked more like the writing of a child than an old lady. Still, it was legible.

  “You want me to sign this?” Hillary had asked, sneering.

  “Yeah, sugar. It ain’t no promise note o’ anythin’ like that, I ain’t sayin’ ya gots ta pay me back, I’s just saying ya gotta follow my rules, my terms.”

  “I already said I would,” Hillary said unhappily.

  “I know what ya said, child, this is just to remind ya in case ya forget.”

  Miss Billie smiled and handed Hillary a pen.

  With a slight sigh, Hillary signed the name Caleigh on the appropriate line.

  “Don’t fo’get yo’ last name, honey.”

  Hillary hadn’t given any thought as to which last name she would use. She signed Montgomery, using the surname of her former best friend—the one she had doused with gasoline and set ablaze in a closet. Then she handed the paper to Miss Billie.

  “Caleigh Montgomery,” Miss Billie said with a smile. “We gots ourselves a deal, Miss Montgomery.”

  Miss Billie hadn’t really cared about having a contract. She cared about having the girl’s last name. Now, in front of Pastor Louie’s computer, she would use the information for her research.

  Miss Billie typed “Caleigh Montgomery” within the Google search bar and hit enter. God was on her side. There, on the very first line, was a most interesting news article with the names Caleigh and Montgomery highlighted in the text. It wasn’t a single person’s name, however. Rather,
the names belonged to two distinct people. What made this article capture Miss Billie’s attention was the fact that it was an article about the serial killer Hillary Greyson—the girl who so closely resembled “Caleigh.” Miss Billie clicked on the link and began to read.

  Miss Billie’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the picture of Hillary Greyson. The resemblance was uncanny.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Miss Billie muttered to herself as her eyes scanned the article. She was shaking her head sadly as she read.

  As she uttered things like “dear Lord” and “good heavens,” she read about how Hillary had first murdered her father. She had chopped his body into pieces which she stashed in large garbage bags and dumped within the nearby wooded area. Based on her mother’s account, her daughter Caleigh—

  “Caleigh?” Miss Billie said in shock.

  The name was too uncommon to be a coincidence. She read on.

  Based on her mother’s account, her daughter Caleigh Greyson had gone missing along with her husband. Hillary had claimed that they ran off together. Several days later, she had left Hillary at home to watch her brother, Joshua, while she went to get the family dog from the veterinarian’s office. It was Mother’s Day and Hillary had prepared a special meal for her. Upon asking where Joshua was, Hillary had told her mother that he was hiding. She asserted that they were in the middle of playing a game of hide-and-seek when she arrived home. The two of them sat down to eat, as Hillary was eager to have her mother taste the special stew she had made in her honor.

  Miss Billie grimaced; she had already heard all about that special stew and what—or rather—who, it was made of. With her face contorted in disgust, she continued reading.

  Kathy Greyson didn’t like the peculiar taste the food had. She excused herself to look for Joshua. He was nowhere upstairs. As she entered the basement, she heard muffled cries then found her daughter Caleigh behind storage boxes near the boiler. Caleigh had been tied up and tortured for several days. Her face was so badly mutilated, she was barely recognizable. Hillary had removed her eyelids so that the girl’s eyes were monstrously dry and deformed. The lack of moisture had caused corneal ulceration which had rendered her nearly blind. Before her mother could rescue the poor young girl, Hillary brandished a knife and stabbed her in the thigh. Hillary admitted to killing her father and brother. She told her mother that she had cooked her brother and served him to her in the special stew. Hillary later killed her sister Caleigh in front of her mother then immobilized the woman by shoving her down the stairs and breaking her leg with a bat. Mrs. Greyson would have died if investigating officer, Thomas Cafaro, hadn’t gone to the Greyson household to question Hillary about her possible involvement in the deaths of Jacqueline Montgomery and her twin baby sisters....