Darkness Before Dawn

by Ace Collins

  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.

  51

  THE NEXT DAY BEGAN WITH TWO MORE CALLS TO THOMAS’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.”

  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 i
s 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.

  52

  STILL 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 t
he 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.”