The Dark Nine

The Dark Nine

Part 1:  The Story of Meg

"You killed her."

"Prove it."

I held her mangled bleeding body in my arms and kissed her one last time.  If looks could kill then I would be deemed a murderer, just like him.  I glared at him with more hatred than I knew I was even capable of.  The rage I felt within my own soul scared me.  I had grown accustomed to his harsh criticisms and overbearing nature.  I no longer flinched when he went into one of his jealous rants.  But running over my dog?  No.  He had gone too far this time.  And though his smug "Prove it" reply made me want to rip his face from his skull, he was right - I couldn't prove it.  I couldn't prove anything.  He was the lead district attorney.  He had too many connections in this city and any connections that I had were made through him.  The self-righteous son of a bitch had me trapped in my own cookie cutter lifestyle.  So I was left with just one choice - kill the asshole.

***

The business card was torn on every edge from hiding in the back of my wallet so long.  I put it in my coupon section because I knew Cameron didn't give a damn about coupons.  He was too good for those.  My sister handed it to me three years ago and it looked like this.

                             

Εκδίκηση

                             

[e-mail]

                             

Referral 103

Cameron had not mastered the art of hiding the black and blue evidence of his insane jealousy back then.  My sister saw the bruise on my arm and she instantly knew.  She listened in horror as I explained to her why I couldn't just "leave the bastard."  She didn't say a word after my explanation.  She just slipped me this card and excused herself. My Greek was rusty so I had to Google "Εκδίκηση".  Vengeance.

I wasn't ready then, but as I hold this mysterious worn out card in my hand now I know - it's time.  The blinking cursor at the end of that email was like a taunting dare.  I could hear his obnoxious voice with each blink talking down to me - "Do it bitch. Hit send, I dare you."  So I did.

I don't know if the response was as immediate as it felt because I went into a bit of a daze after I sent my short and discreet email, "Please help me.  I'm finally ready.  Referral 103."  I jumped when I heard the chirp from my work phone letting me know I had new mail.  Cameron can't hack into my work phone as easily.  Nervously I opened the message, "Belle's Diner on 5th Street. Sunday. 2pm. Bring incentive."  So quick.  Tomorrow is Sunday.  Incentive?  How much does it cost to hire someone to kill your husband?  I wanted to call my sister, but that would make her an accessory to my diabolic plan.  I had no one.  Just me and Vengeance now.

***

My limbs were visibly shaking, but the 4 cups of coffee I had didn't make it seem too out of the ordinary.  I probably would have looked like a low life junkie in detox if I weren't dressed in my paralegal Sunday best.  Greek Vengeance was officially half an hour late.  I barely had the courage to stay, but I had even less courage to leave.  This was my last resort.  I had no other options.

"Stand up, smile, and hug me.  Act like we're old friends," the stranger whispered.

"Excuse me?"

"Meg, it's so great to see you.  Stand up and give me a hug. How the heck have you been?"

Mindlessly I stood up and hugged my Vengeance.  Vengeance is a woman?  A lovely, well groomed, sweet faced, brightly smiling woman?  She looks like a cheerleading instructor, not a vigilante.  This has to be some kind of mistake.  I watch her sit down, still smiling and chatting casually, carrying on with this "old friends meeting" rouse.  I can't believe I held on to the card for three years and this is what shows up when I reach out for help.  This happy go lucky woman is no match for Cam.

"I'm sorry. I've made a mistake."  I dig in my purse for the money for my coffee.

"What's the mistake?  You are Meg, right?" her tone has lost its bubbly.

"Yes and how did you know my name?" I ask.

"I do my homework.  Also, your email account is [e-mail].  It doesn't take a genius."

Bit of a smart ass cheerleading instructor I guess, the Sue Sylvester type but much prettier.  So much prettier.

"You're late.  How can I trust you if you're late to our first meeting?" I'm a little pissed about the "genius" comment.

"I'm never late.  You drank four cups of coffee.  You use two Splendas and three creams for each cup.  Why don't you just inject a pixie stick in your veins, it's cheaper?"

Shocked by her accurateness and candor I struggle on what to say next.

"Then why did you make me wait?"  I sound like a spoiled three year old but this woman has got me off my game.

"It's an important part of my weeding system.  I wait exactly thirty two minutes.  If the client leaves before the thirty two minutes is up then they are not ready for phase one.  If a client can wait the thirty two minutes then they are at least ready to seriously discuss the matter at hand.  I don't like wasting my time.  So I ask again, what's the mistake?"

I couldn't argue with her logic. She's exactly right.  I would have left after five minutes if I were not truly ready for this.  I wanted Cam dead.  I probably would have waited thirty two hours.

"Well, you're not what I was expecting.  You're a woman." This was all I could think to say.

"Thanks for noticing sweetheart, yes, I am a woman.  Would you have been more comfortable if I had walked in here in all leather with ammo strapped to my chest, aviator glasses resembling Arnold Schwarzenegger?  Would that be more along the lines of what you were expecting?"

Damn this woman.  Alright, maybe she would be a match for Cameron.  She certainly has the right attitude to take him on.  She's made it clear that she doesn't take any shit so I decided to stop giving it to her.

"I'm sorry.  You're right.  I apologize."

"There it is.  Now we can have real talk.  You can call me VIM by the way.  Did you bring the incentive?"

I reached in my purse and grabbed the hefty envelope.  Cameron monitors our bank account closely so it's hard for me to set aside cash for myself.  I had to be sneaky about it.  He gives me $150.00 a week to have my nails done and to be "properly" waxed.  I have to bring him the receipt too.  It's not for my pleasure, it's for his.  His pleasure and his pride.  He says no wife of his is going to be seen with ratty looking nails or an untamed pussy (his exact words).  What the controlling dumb ass doesn't know is that my sister's wife works at the swanky salon he picked out.  She does the work for free and prints me out a receipt each week.  He would kill me, Vivian and my sister if he knew.  I was nervous when I first started this scheme but the homophobic asshole hates my bisexual sister so much that he would never bother to ask about her wife.  He doesn't even know she has a wife.  I use his bigotry for my advantage.  I've been saving for three years, for as long as that card has been in my wallet.  I slid the envelope to her.  $5000.00.  I had no idea how much to bring, but I figure this could be a first installment.

"What the hell is this?  Put that back.  We're not there yet.  That's phase two." She sounds irritated.

"Well you said incentive.  What the hell else am I supposed to think?  It's not like your email had a description of all your little phases so that I had any type of guideline.  I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here.  Cut me some slack."

Smart Meg.  Real smart.  Why don't you cuss out the psycho serial killer you are trying to hire to murder your district attorney husband.  Well, if she decides to stab my throat with a fork in this diner at least my hell would technically be over.  I'm scared to see her reaction, but too curious to not look at her.  She looks pissed and bewildered at the same time.  And still real pretty.

"You don't act like my typical client.  You're quite fiery for someone reaching out for my type of assistance.  Incentive - it means give me a reason to want to help you.  Tell me why I should feel guiltless about eliminating your problem.  Why are you here?  Awake my vengeance."

Well I had days and days' worth of incentive to share.  In a hushed tone I began to tell her my story.  I was surprised at how much I was willing to tell her.  It all just came spilling out.  I told her things I had never revealed to anyone.  All the dirty degrading things he did to me.  She did not interrupt me at all.  She just listened.  I'm sure in her line of work she had heard all of this before.

"Thank you.  Did you bring any hard proof?  Any pictures of the injuries?  Any medical records?  Any journals logging the incidents?  Anything like that?"

Oh, that's what she meant by "Bring incentive."  I had nothing.  Cameron had several doctor friends.  They would patch me up in their homes while Cam was in the room and discuss the previous night's baseball game.  They didn't give a shit about why my asshole was ripped open and wouldn't stop bleeding.  They were the same type of man he was.  Women were slaves, beneath them.  They probably would have taken a turn with me if Cameron wasn't so damn possessive.  It was the only time his jealousy worked in my favor.  They knew he would destroy them if they tried anything with his "property".

I quietly shook my head no.  No, I had no proof.  Cameron made sure of that.

"Wait, I did used to keep a journal, in the beginning.  But he found it and wrote on the page of my last entry 'Keep writing bitch.  I'll give you enough material to fill this entire journal and then some.'  So I stopped writing altogether.  The last thing written in that journal is from him 'That's what I thought you stupid whore.'  But he didn't destroy it or make me get rid of it.  I think he lets me keep it as a symbol of is triumph over me.  I could bring it to you to look at it.  Would that suffice?"

"No, not necessary.  Your incentive quota has been met.  There's just one more section of phase one.  This is the most important part.  I will not take a man's life or risk my own unless I believe I am truly your last resort.  Tell me why you can't leave him on your own.  Tell me why you're still with him.  Convince me that I am your last hope."

I hate this story.  I hate remembering.  When it does creep into my mind late at night I try to convince myself it's just a horrible dream.  That this, this terrible thing did not really happen.  That this man lying next to me in bed did not orchestrate such a gruesome tragedy.  Yet, I am forced to remember every time I get the urge to leave him which is every day.  She was right though.  She was risking everything.  I had to clearly explain to her why she was my last hope.  And so I took a deep breath and I began to tell the most horrific story imaginable.

"I left him once.  I left him for nine days.  It was before we were married.  He had hit me for the first time.  We were arguing about the outfit I had chosen to wear for a party with mutual friends.  Cameron didn't like it.  I told him I didn't care.  He ripped my blouse off and shoved pieces of it down my throat and asked me if I cared now.  It was like an awful dream.  I couldn't believe how quickly my fairy tale romance had disappeared.  This man was not my prince.  This man was a monster.  He was meticulous about his appearance.  He was livid because I had made him mess up his hair and wrinkle his shirt.  When he went into the bedroom to change I ran out the door.  I grabbed my purse and I was out.  I didn't care that I was shirtless.  I drove half the night until I reached my grandma's house in the country.  He had never been to my grandma's.  And everyone else I knew in the city had small children.  I was not going to drag them into my domestic violence ordeal.  My sister had just lost her husband in a terrible car accident weeks earlier so she was dealing with enough. Besides, my grandma wouldn't press me to talk until I was ready.  I always loved that about her.  She was a woman of few words, but she made them count.  I'd be safe at Grandma's.  Or so I thought, until day nine.

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach when I heard his voice down the stairs.  He had found me.  How the hell did he find me out here?  I hurried down the stairs to make sure Grandma was alright.  There he stood looking like he did the first time he picked me up for our first date.  Handsomely dressed, perfect smile, perfect hair, and holding a beautiful bouquet of my favorite flowers.  He was full of charm and apologies.  I was full of rage and rebuke.  My heart was like ice and there was no amount of smooth talking or blue iris' that could melt it down.  But I went with him outside to talk just to spare my grandma the ugliness that was bound to happen once I told him to kiss my ass and get the hell out of here.  That was my plan anyhow.  Once the smile disappeared from his face my plan did too.  He held up a small blinking electrical device.  'You see this Meg?  This is how I knew where to find you.  I could have come and got your ass nine days ago, but I wanted to give you the opportunity to do the right thing and come back on your own.  Imagine my disappointment when you did not.  You are not leaving me.  No one leaves me unless I give them permission to go.  You don't have my permission Meg.  So pay attention because I am only going to explain this once.  For every day that you were gone I visited my buddy Jeffrey.  You know Jeffrey Richardson, the director of the children's psychiatric ward at Graystone.  Jeffrey and I go way back.  We're practically brothers and there's nothing he wouldn't do for me.  So when I asked him to pick a pretty one for me and give me an hour alone with her he didn't ask any questions.  Every day you were gone Meg, I got a new girl.  On day nine I got bored and tired of their screaming.  I missed making you scream so here I am.  I am going to get in my car now.  You can choose to follow me home or stay here.  But keep in mind; every day that you are gone I will have Jeffrey pick another pretty one for me.  And these girls are so far gone they could not explain what happened to them if they tried.  So make your choice Meg.  And choose wisely.'  So that's why I can't leave him.  That's why you're my last resort.  The last time I left him nine little girls were raped and tortured.  He has friends all over the city. Friends in high places.  I can't beat him on my own."

I was so enthralled in the telling of my story that I had not looked across the table at my audience of one.  When I finished and finally looked up at her I noticed her cheeks were shiny, as if she had been crying, but her face was like stone.  If she cried she did it silently.

"Well Meg, the best way to battle friends in high places is to have a friend in low places.  And now you do.  You've convinced me.  We'll move to phase two now.  Planning and pricing.  Don't contact me.  I will contact you.  I won't give you the details of the deed.  That's for your protection.  So don't ask.  Don't ever contact me first or the deal is off.  It will take me a couple of weeks, but your problem will be eliminated.  I can promise you that.  Do you understand?"

I nodded my head yes and then she disappeared as quietly as she came in.  When Cam walked in from his golf game that day I greeted him as I normally did.  I didn't want to give him any inclination that my demeanor was any different.  But something on the inside of me had changed at the end of that meeting with VIM.  For the first time in a long time I had hope for a better life.

I waited to be contacted.  Each day that passed by made me worry that she would back out, or that when she did contact me about the price I would not have enough saved up to pay her.  Three weeks had passed by and I had not heard a word.  I was so tempted to send her another email but she was very clear about not contacting her first.  She didn't seem like a woman who bluffs either.  I was holding my phone reminding myself why I couldn't contact her when I got the call.

"Is this Mrs. Meg Pritchett?" the man's voice sounded so stern.

"Yes, this is Meg Pritchett.  Who is this?"

"Ma'am, we need you to come down to the 7th precinct police station right away.  Do you need us to send a car or can you make it on your own?"

"I can make it on my own.  What is this about?" My heart began to race.

"Ma'am, we can't discuss those details over the phone.  Please hurry."

Oh my God.  They know.  Somehow Cam had found out.  I knew he had been acting funny.  He had not berated me nearly as much.  He had not been forcing himself on me nearly as much either.  That bastard knew all along.  VIM probably works for him.  I tried to calm my thoughts down so that I could at least drive to the station without getting into a car accident.  My mind was racing, trying to come up with a valid excuse as to why I met with VIM that Sunday three weeks ago to this day.

"Mrs. Pritchett, I am very sorry to inform you that we believe your husband has died in a terrible accident.  There was an explosion at the Graystone Children's Psychiatric ward and we have discovered three remains.  One is Jeffrey Richardson; one is an unknown female, and unfortunately DNA evidence shows that the last set of remains was that of your husband, Cameron Pritchett.  We are very sorry for your loss ma'am."

And just like that, he was gone.  I didn't have to pretend to be in shock and disbelief to those detectives.  I truly was.  I could not believe he was really gone.  And she had taken Jeffrey with him.  I had not even paid her yet.  Wait, an unidentified female?  Oh my God, did she die in the process?  Or was it one of the children?  Were all the children ok?

"The children?" I stammered.

"No ma'am, none of the children were harmed.  Luckily the explosion occurred during a special chapel event.  The unidentified female is an adult. From the remains she is believed to be between the ages of 25-35.  It is definitely not a child."

Oh God.  VIM. I hung on to the hope I would hear from her.  That she would demand some outrageous payment because she killed Jeffrey as a bonus.  And with the life insurance money I would be very willing and able to pay her price.  But I never heard from her.

***

Some women can grow a human baby in nine months.  I had not done anything as miraculous as that since I was freed from Cameron, but I had accomplished quite a bit if I do say so myself.  Cameron had forbidden me to take the LSATS even though my dream had always been to become a lawyer.  But then that was his specialty - dream crusher.  I had to make sure I seemed the mourning widow so I didn't take the LSATS the day after the funeral or anything like that.  But I did take them and had been accepted to Emory University's School of Law in the fall.  My life was finally becoming normal.  Until I get this text message, "Belle's Diner on 5th Street. Sunday. 2pm. Bring incentive."  My heart stopped.  Was this someone's idea of a sick joke?  Did someone find out my dark secret and wanted to blackmail me?  Or could it be... VIM?

***

I hoped that she was watching me nervously pour my three creamers into my 5th cup of coffee.  It had been forty three minutes.  I was counting.  Still no VIM.  No anyone.  An hour and twenty one minutes had passed now.  She wasn't coming.  I dug in my purse for some cash as I heard the waitress come over for the billionth time to check on me.

"Did you miss me?"

My God.  There she was.  It was VIM.  I don't remember her looking this gorgeous.  She didn't have to tell me to stand up and hug her this time.  My body automatically jumped at the chance when I recognized her.

"Calm down Meg.  Let's not make a scene like I've come back from the dead or anything, alright?" she winked and she gave me a playful little smile.

I couldn't say anything.  I was in shock.  It really was her.  All this time I thought she was the unidentified dead female.  It had broken my heart.  To answer her question, yes, yes I had missed her.  She was my hero, my saving grace and I thought she had died fighting my battle for me.

"Well, I know I said to calm down, but you can at least say something."

"Yes."

"Yes? Yes what?"

"Yes VIM.  Yes I missed you."  I hadn't realized just how much until I had her sitting across from me.

She didn't go into any detail about what had happened that Sunday nine months ago.  I knew better than to ask.  Honestly, now that I know she survived it, I didn't need to know any more details.  She wanted to know how I was doing, so I caught her up on all the exciting things that were happening in my new found life of freedom.

I didn't have to pretend we were like old friends this time.  It really felt like we were.  Amazing how a pre-meditated murder can bond two people.

"Come with me.  I have something to show you."

Her demeanor had changed and it made me nervous, but I couldn't say no.  How do you say "oh no thanks, I think I'll pass" to the person that gave you a new life?  You don't.  You do what they say, no questions asked.

While we were in the car she began to talk about choices and consequences for those choices.  She spoke so seriously that I began to get a real eerie feeling.  And we were driving out of the city, on a route I was unfamiliar with.  As she spoke and dusk turned to darkness I began to panic on the inside.  "Consequences for our choices."  Was she talking about the consequences for my choices?  My choice to hire her?  Was she going to kill me?  Did she not ever demand a payment because I was about to pay with my own life?

"Hey, what's going on over there?  You're trembling.  Don't you trust me?" She asked.

She sounded so hurt with that last question.  But Jesus, let's be real for a moment.  I had only met her one other time.  She is a hired killer.  She literally kills people for a living.  Do I trust her?  Then she laid her hand on my leg and looked me in my eyes.

"Don't you?"

"Yes.  Yes I trust you."

I didn't even have to lie.  The moment she touched me my panic attack stopped.  I felt safe with her.  Maybe I was crazy.  It's not like I was the best judge of character.  I married a child raping dog murderer.

"We're here.  Come on.  I have a surprise for you."

She took me into what looked like an old abandoned warehouse.  But after a few turns down multiple hallways we ended up in a more modern lair type area.  The air was cleaner; the furniture was nice and the room was filled with all types of strange weapons and machinery.  It was like we had stumbled upon the Bat cave.

"Remember what I was saying about choices and consequences on the ride over here?"

"Yes."  Not this conversation again.

"Well, Cameron made his choices and he has to suffer for all those choices.  Like I said, we all have to suffer for our choices.  I am about to give you a choice."

And with that she flipped a switch.  A bright light came on in a room made of glass.  There was a man in that room.  He looked strange.  He didn't look like a real man.  He looked like a replica of a man propped in a chair; he looked like he was dead, but his eyes were moving.  Oh my fucking God.  It was Cameron.

"How?  I thought... is that really..."  I couldn't form a complete sentence.

"Yes Meg that is really Cameron.  When I told you I do my homework for each job, I meant it.  I am extremely thorough.  And I don't take on any job unless I know the consequences for their choices should be death.  So I researched Cameron Pritchett extensively and what I found made me decide that death wasn't enough for his choices.  He needed to suffer.  He admitted to you himself that he raped nine girls.  Nine young girls that were unable to defend themselves.  And so I have kept him here for nine months.  And when I tell you that I have made him suffer for his choices, just trust me that he has.  The details of that suffering you may find too disturbing.  I know you have questions.  Ask them now or forever hold your peace."

"But the remains, they had a DNA match.  If that wasn't Cameron, then who else did you kill?"

"Valid question.  But I didn't kill Cameron's DNA match, Cameron did.  You see, Cameron Pritchett used to be Douglass Cameron and Douglass Cameron had a twin brother named Derrick.  One day Douglass Cameron finds his brother's diary and he reads about his secret crush on Douglass' best friend - Jeffrey Richardson.  This didn't go over so well with Douglass so he decides to murder his brother but makes Jeffrey do the dirty work so that he always has something to hold over him.  They came up with a story about a drifter that attacked all of them, but Derrick was the unlucky one that didn't get away.  They framed a local homeless man for the murder.  The DNA match found at Graystone was the bones of Derrick Cameron who had been dead for many years."

"Who was the unidentified woman?"

"Another excellent question.  She worked at Graystone, but was not an official employee.  She knew that Jeffrey was selling time with the girls to the highest bidder and helped with it so that's why I made the executive decision to kill her too.  I didn't mean to hurt you, but at least I knew it would keep you from contacting me and blowing our cover if you assumed she was me."

"Any more questions?"

I shook my head no.  This was a lot to process.  My newly perfect life has taken a dark unexpected turn.  And it was about to get even darker.

"So Meg, here is your choice.  You shared with me your dream to become a lawyer.  Your dream to be an intricate part of the justice system so that you can protect those who can't protect themselves.  I think it's a great dream.  But I am going to put that dream to the test.  You can choose to have me finish the job and kill Cameron here and now, or I can release him to you so that you can have him prosecuted for the things he has done via the justice system you dream to be the hero of.  I leave it up to you."

I looked at Cameron, this man I had once truly loved.  He was my prince charming initially.  He had obviously suffered a tremendous amount of pain the past nine months.  And I was to be an officer of the justice system.  It was my dream.

"Come with me.  Let's go in the room and you make your choice in front of him.  You don't have to be afraid.  He can't hurt you.  He can't move.  He is able to see and hear and feel, but he cannot move."

She took me in the room.  I could tell by the look in his eyes he recognized me and had all his senses.  For the first time I felt sorry for him.  It must have driven him crazy to be all dirty, dressed in rags, alone in this lair suffering who knows what for nine months.

"Before you make your choice I am going to answer the one question you didn't ask me.  Why was Cameron at Graystone that day?  Why wasn't he playing golf like he normally did on Sundays?  The answer is this Meg; he stopped playing golf on Sundays the day you left him years ago.  He was telling the truth when he told you he raped one girl for every day that you were gone.  So you were right to believe him.  What he didn't tell you was that every Sunday he continued going to Graystone and he raped those nine girls over and over again.  He had claimed those nine for himself.  So he had held you captive and continued torturing the girls.  Now, make your choice."

And with that another light came on and it focused on pictures of nine little girls.  Nine girls who were broken, and missing the light in their eyes that young girls are supposed to have.  They were the dark nine and their justice was long overdue.  So Cameron crushed one more dream of mine.  My dream to be an outstanding hero of the justice system.  Then again justice is in the eye of the beholder.

"Kill him."