When it came time to prepare a defense, Stephanie hadn’t had the money required to hire an attorney of her own, so she had to depend on a state-appointed public defender. That surely hadn’t played in her favor. Even Tara had been able to see through some of the inconsistencies in Stephanie’s defense strategy.
She had only two things going for her: she was an intended murder victim herself, and there was a halfway-decent case to be made that, since she had been kept out of the loop regarding the plot against her, there was the possibility that Brian Baird had not told her about his plans for Donna McNeill. A weak argument, to be sure, but one that must have helped cast doubt in the minds of the jury.
That said, she was able to dodge the proverbial bullet of a conviction for Accessory to Murder. Instead, she was found guilty of Conspiracy to Commit Murder, which landed her five years in prison with the opportunity for parole after three.
What a mess.
Tara still wasn’t convinced of Stephanie’s innocence as related to her friend, Donna, but that was neither here nor there. She was on a wholly committed, monthly mission to try to reach out to the woman who had never really been a friend, though she had been a mentor of sorts during Tara’s own years of practicing the occult as a teenager.
Maybe it was that long-ago relationship that God intended to use to break down walls of resistance. Maybe Stephanie would one day open her heart to the God who loved her despite her years of volatile hatred toward him.
Tara heard the security door open. A guard walked Stephanie into the room and removed her handcuffs. Tara stood, and Stephanie immediately noticed her.
Not quite as stoic as she used to be, Stephanie allowed a slight smile to lighten her face. She walked straight up to Tara and extended her hand, which Tara took and warmly held for a moment.
“Hi, Stephanie.”
“Tara. Good to see you.”
To Tara, it actually looked as though she might mean it this time.
“Good to see you too. Dare I ask how you’re doing?”
“Let’s sit.” They did. “Well, I guess I’m doing better than I anticipated. Apparently, I’m no longer viewed as a probable snitch.”
This had been explained to Tara several visits back. Stephanie’s almost-regal bearing and elegant language skills spoke of one who hadn’t spent time on the streets; this had invited a lot of intense scrutiny by the other inmates in her dorm, none of whom had shown any trust toward her.
“Well, that’s good to hear. Things are a little more relaxed, then?”
“A small bit. I’m spending more time outside of my dorm, rather than sulking in my self-pity.”
“That sounds … encouraging.” Tara found that there were still certain aspects of their conversations that caused unavoidable verbal hesitations. It felt awkward to allude to things being in any way positive regarding life in prison. “Spent on some activities, I’m assuming.”
“Yes. A few.”
And that was the apparent end of the conversation, as Stephanie became silent and just stared at Tara for a long moment.
Awkward.
“How are things for you, Tara? I know it’s getting close to the time you’ll be losing your oldest child to college.”
Whoa! What is this? Actual interest?
“Umm. Yeah. Jenna is just a couple weeks away from leaving the state.” Tara was still trying to process the question. “I’m uhh … doing well, I guess. But I’m sure as the date of her departure grows ever near, I’ll start feeling the dread.”
“Only natural … I suspect.”
For several minutes, Tara was subjected to questions that were, although friendly in nature, very much out of character for the self-absorbed Stephanie O’Leary. It was, Tara decided, somewhat refreshing to be asked about her own life rather than for news from the outside world. But it was very odd, just the same.
Though tempted to bring up the subject, Tara pushed down the urge to spring God on Stephanie again. She was surprised to hear, though, that one of the activities that Stephanie had been tempted to join was a Bible study. But she’d passed on it because she’d discovered that it was being led by another inmate, one whom she didn’t particularly care for.
“Why the interest in the Bible?” Tara ventured.
Stephanie pursed her lips for a moment, maybe out of regret for having mentioned the subject. “I guess I could curtly say, ‘Know thine enemy,’ but since the gods I had worshiped turned out to be enemies too, it would be hypocritical. So, I’ll just say that I wanted to know why you are the way you are.
“You threw away a life of power—of direct influence over others, something you were becoming skilled at—to be subservient to a god who wouldn’t allow you to live your life any way that you wished.”
Now the temptation to rush into explanations about God became extreme. But she pushed it down, possibly with help from God himself. Instead, she simply nodded without saying a word.
“Now, what of the outside world?” Stephanie detoured. “Anything interesting that isn’t on the news networks?”
Chapter 14
T
he hours passed by without notice. Drew was digging deep this time, deeper than he’d planned.
He’d intended to keep his searches within the boundaries of the law. But it seemed that the more he sought out the body types he preferred, the more he came across sites that deliberately made eighteen-year-old models look much younger.
He’d fought off the urge for illegal content while accessing the first couple of sites, but he came across a model on the third site that piqued his curiosity, a girl he was sure he’d seen on a much less appropriate site on the dark web.
So, he caved. But only to find out if he was right—just to satisfy his curiosity.
Drew opened a specialty web browser that would protect him during his search, one that would allow him access to areas of the Internet that few ever experienced. He muttered to himself three times that he was only going to take a peek, just to see if he was right about the girl, then he’d jump back into the world of eighteens and above.
That was what he told himself.
For an hour he looked for the girl. Every girl on every page of every different site was like stepping down another rung of a ladder into deeper darkness. His “peeks” just to “find out” steadily transitioned into heavy mining for underage treasures.
From time to time, thoughts would interject themselves—glimmers of light in that dark place—attempting to battle against his stalwart determination to prevent bothersome thoughts of conscience.
Why am I doing this? Why so young? I should stop.
He knew the answers to his questions, of course: the young were forbidden, and forbidden things were exciting.
Tomorrow, he told himself. Sunday—I’ll maintain all boundaries.
But for right now … for the next hour or two.…
Forbidden.
ELIZABETH WALKED INTO work, her small server apron slung over her left arm. She said a quick hello to Callie at the hostess station before walking back to the kitchen, then to her locker.
Another girl, LeAnn, who was maybe fifteen years older and about to start the same shift, was tying her apron around her waist.
“Hi, Els. Ready for some weekend big tippers?”
‘Els’ wasn’t a particularly fun nickname, but it was one she could tolerate.
“I sure hope we get some tippers tonight. Last weekend sucked.” She walked up to an empty locker and set her phone on the top shelf.
“It’s all about the uniform, the smile, and the wiggle,” LeAnn said with a grin. “You may only be sixteen, but you’ve got the goods. Make ‘em work for you.”
The comment struck Elizabeth as completely inappropriate. But why? She’d been using her body for entertainment for years, now. Random online guys would actually plead with her to let them see parts—or all—of it. Why did it, all of a sudden, sound absurd?
/> Of course. The Lawtons—the wholesome, don’t-cross-moral-lines Lawton family. The family she respected, whose respect she sought after.
Well, at least the Fairlane Diner’s work environment kept things from becoming morally ambiguous. She wouldn’t actually be showing anything off.
No nudity, but higher tips. She considered the thought.
Elizabeth matched LeAnn’s expression. “Maybe you’re right. If a little bit of flirting can turn into a lot more money, why the heck not?”
“Let me know how you did after the shift’s over.”
“You got it,” Elizabeth said, then added sassily, “and so … do … I!”
Both girls laughed their way out onto the serving floor.
Jamie walked out of the karate dojo—his training studio—and over to his bike. He unlocked it from the bike rack and got on it for his ride back home.
He’d been karate training nearly every week since he was seven years old, and he loved it.
Over the years, he’d gained a lot of self-confidence—though much of that confidence stemmed from observing it in his mom and dad.
But there was something to be said about the confidence that came from knowing how to defend oneself. He just hoped a real need to do so would never arise.
The other big thing he’d gained from his training was a best friend. And, truth be told, maybe that was the best part.
Zach Miller studied Taekwondo. A completely different martial art. It was sort of a fluke that they’d met and begun to hang out together. They’d gone to the same middle school, and they’d seen each other several times, but it was a martial arts tournament that got them talking for the first time.
A tournament held in Columbus, Ohio, when they were both thirteen, hosted three different disciplines: Jiujitsu, Karate, and Taekwondo. Zach happened to notice Jamie’s family walk through the front entrance of the event center and bounded up to say hi.
Not ‘hi,’ actually. He led with, “I didn’t know you were in martial arts.”
“Yeah. Karate.”
“I guess that’s cool. I’m in Taekwondo.”
“I guess that’s cool too.”
“I’m Zach,” he said with a respectful bow.
Jamie returned the gesture. “I’m Jamie.”
After that brief intersection of their lives, Zach ran off to get back to his team. The next time they saw each other at school, they ate lunch together. And the rest? History.
The two never competed against each other due to the rules against interdisciplinary competition, but there were times when they just had to find out who was the best. That led to some unsanctioned, two-person “tournaments,” usually at Belle Meadow Park, just minutes away by bike from where each of them lived.
Over the previous couple of years, both of them had gotten some good strikes in, resulting in bruises and, in one case, a bloodied nose and black eye for Jamie—much to his chagrin. They’d been caught a couple times, too, by people in the park that knew one or the other’s family, culminating in calls to their homes to ask, “Are you aware what your boys are up to?”
Good times.
Jamie made his way home. It was time for a sandwich and a little bit of Xbox Live. Jamie pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and checked the time.
Yeah. Zach’ll be home by now.
SUNDAY, AUGUST 3
Chapter 15
I
t was a little after midnight, and Elizabeth took account of her Saturday evening. Rather than taking the chance of another boring night at home, she had accepted the opportunity to fill in for another server who had called off. For once, being a Fairlane Diner employee had paid off. Big time! The amount of money she had made in tips astounded her. LeAnn’s “art of persuasion” had loosened quite a few men’s grip on their wallets. Maybe even that of a few women too. That thought didn’t really bother her, probably because of the things she had gotten used to seeing online.
Sitting on her bed in her 1950s-style waitressing uniform, she held the wad of cash in her hand, a smile on her face.
She knew that servers made even more money at places that served alcohol, but she would have to wait another couple of years before she was of legal age to do that. But just the idea that a flirty smile and a little hip movement could change her income was pretty satisfying just now. She’d have to be cautious, though. Though she wore a revealing skirt at work, the diner was still pegged as a family restaurant. That meant she’d have to choose her targets carefully.
Elizabeth dropped her hand to her lap and turned to look across the room. Kyla was asleep, the soft sound of breathing emanating from her crib. It hadn’t seemed to tear at her heart as much tonight, being away, enjoying herself at work. She felt a little bit of remorse about that.
She placed the money on the bed, got up, and walked to the crib.
No. No amount of fun or money could ever replace the time she got to have with this little girl before her.
I love you, my little one. More than anything.
Still. She wouldn’t actually be putting her daughter into second-place status if she was able to finally enjoy what she did, right?
She reached down to brush a few strands of soft brown hair off her face, causing Kyla to stir. Opening her eyes, she quickly focused on her mother and in a sleepy whisper said, “Momma.”
Elizabeth smiled and said quietly, “Hi, my little darling.”
“Hi, Momma.” Kyla yawned, barely able to keep her eyes open.
“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s not time to wake up yet. You can go back nighty-night.”
Kyla’s eyes slowly closed, and in a moment, she was back to sleep.
Continuing to gaze at her daughter, she was again amazed that this little human being had been produced by her. What had she done to deserve such a gift? It was a pretty obvious fluke that such imperfection had produced such perfection.
“I love you, Kyla. Mommy loves you so much.”
Elizabeth turned back toward her bed and stripped down. She grabbed her robe, closed it around herself, and walked down the hallway to the bathroom to wash off the smell of kitchen and coffee. She’d settle into a little bit of Internet fun afterward, maybe even engage in some online chat.
DREW TYPED, > You don’t really have to go, do you?
His disappointment was real. He’d felt like he was finally getting somewhere in the conversation. They’d flirted and teased for close to an hour, and now this chick was just going to bail?
> yea classes n da morning
She’d said she was a college student studying pre-med, but Drew was able to tell that she was lacking even the maturity of a true high school graduate. She was probably not more than fourteen or fifteen years old.
That was a waste of time. Again.
Well, let’s not burn the bridge.
> Sorry you have to go. Study hard!
> lol i will
Why do you people refuse to use punctuation? Especially when you’re on a computer? Good grief! And use capital letters!
So much for that.
Sitting on his couch in a pair of gray sweatpants and a blue T-shirt, Drew looked at the clock on his living room wall. 12:47. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Maybe he’d give it another half hour.
He clicked on another screen name: MayB4U (Female)
Nineteen years old, and her photo was worth looking at. But that didn’t really mean anything. He knew all of her information could be fake. He wouldn’t be able to tell for sure unless she was willing to share pictures or video chat.
It’s not like he was in a position to complain; his profile was fake too. In the world of the popular chat program, ShareU, there was a lot of lying going on. Some pretended they were older, some younger. He was one of the latter, presenting himself as a twenty-three-year-old, professional, single male. A mere thirteen years off in age.
He sent a wink emoji.
Waited.
Wai
ted.
Wait….
> Hello, NewProGuy. Cute pic.
Punctuation and caps!
> Hi, MayB4Me.
A few seconds later, he added: > I mean … MayB4U! Sorry. Honest mistake.
> LOL Oh, yeah. I’m sure it was just a mistake. New Pro, huh?
Drew was encouraged by how things were starting out. He could already tell that she enjoyed his flirtation.
Now, don’t go too fast. Just be charming.
ELIZABETH SAT BACK against her headboard, pillow comfortably behind her. Her laptop created a soft glow about her bedroom. Comfortable in her sleep shorts and tank top, she watched for the response to her question.
> Yes. Well, sorta. I just graduated from Mizzou and got hired with a bank not too far away from the school. I guess that makes me a professional now.
Elizabeth looked up Mizzou. She wasn’t familiar with that school. Missouri. Hmm. Not local. Worth liking and a safe distance. Cute and not a lunk.
She replied: > Upward mobile. Nice. You’ve got my attention.
> Ditto. So, what do you do?
Elizabeth wasn’t naïve. She knew there was a chance that he was a fake. But that was half of the appeal of this chat program. You could pretend. And while she certainly did stretch the truth at times, she would provide a little bit of truth.
> I work at a restaurant. Certainly not a “professional” like you.
> The banker and the waitress.
> Server. Don’t be such a sexist. ;-)
She didn’t really mind the term waitress. It spoke of femininity, and she was all about being feminine.
> Oops. Sorry.
> I’m just playing.
> Whew! Good! Didn’t want to chase you away … yet.
Elizabeth was pretty much convinced now that this was going to be a fun conversation.
That Dark Place Page 9