Avenging Angels

prologue

JENNETTE KARLA SIMPSON INHALED a deep breath of calm retribution. With her lungs filled, the twelve-year-old, green-eyed-beauty briefly paused. Feeling giddy, her eyes grew large and shiny, just before she blew out a bright smile of delayed satisfaction.

Still a little elated, she repeated the process to steady herself. Jennette then nodded upward and looked at her older, foster brother. Go ahead, Jimmy, she puffed. I think I’m ready now.

Jimmy returned the nod and cleared his throat. In one hand, he held a bible. In his other hand, Jimmy gripped a toy, plastic teapot. Within the teapot was water that he and Jennette, along with Jennette's two younger siblings, Carrie and Conrad Simpson, collectively blessed just moments before.

Jimmy raised the teapot over his head, and, mimicking their favorite movie, The Exorcist, he thrust the pink-toy forward, causing water to fly in the direction of three adults. The adults flinched, but could not move. Gagged with red bandanas, the three adults sat bound to chairs. Resolute in their construction, the iron seats were firmly bolted to the bedroom floor. Strapped to the chairs were the children's foster parents, Charles and Sandy Davis, along with their adult son, Steven.

Armed with guns taken from Charles’s hidden collection, Jennette and Jimmy easily coerced the adults into the gothic-inspired, chairs of restraint.

Jimmy lifted his arm and, again, plunged the teapot forward. Making vertical and horizontal waves at the three adults, he formed a protective cross. Evil spirits, be gone, he shouted, while droplets of water shot from the lone hole in the teapot's spout, randomly spreading across the adults' faces and torsos.

Get behind us, Satan, Jennette added with a spirited yell. She then walked to the chair where twenty-seven-year-old, Steven, sat. She grabbed the back of the chair and, checking its stability, tried to shake it. Steadfast in its duty, Steven’s chair, along with the others, were previously used for punishment purposes, restraining an endless drove of frightened foster children. They were also used to keep the children from getting into the refrigerator when they were left home alone for extended periods of time.

Jennette rattled the chair one more time. Feeling safe, she nodded upward toward Jimmy. It's secure, she whispered. Jennette took her place in line between Jimmy and Conrad, who was next to Carrie. Together the four foster children formed a linear, holy gauntlet.

Up and down the line, the four youth exchanged looks and smirks. They knew that the evil they’d endured, on a daily basis, was nearly over. Soon they would be able to move about freely without care or angst.

No one outside the dingy, foster home walls knew of the travesty within the house. Not even the social worker, who placed the children, knew of the horrors. Not unexpected though, as the home was a bit remote; and not wanting to put any unnecessary miles on her new Cadillac’s, limited warranty, the social worker had only had phone contact since dropping off the children, and no contact for several weeks.

Jimmy threw more water on the three adults. We take no pleasure, he said, in ending the terror that we have fallen victim to…

Interrupting, Jennette patted Jimmy on the back. She cleared her throat and whispered, Wait a second, Jimmy. She walked back toward Steven's chair. This time, Jennette stopped directly in front him. She turned slightly and, with all her might, lifted her right leg in the air and down on his genitals. You like that? she shouted, and began to laugh.

Steven bent forward. With a grimaced scowl and bobbing head, he groaned from the immense pain; followed by several coughs and gags for air.

I think you do like that, Jennette said, with a sarcastic tone. And my answer to that very same question, is no! She stomped him again. I don't like it! And I never did like you touching me.

Steven gagged, seemingly holding back vomit.

It looks like you want to puke there, Steven. It must be creeping up into your throat by now. But don’t worry, honey. Jennette smirked. With the handkerchief firmly pressed against your lips and cheeks, I’m sure the green goo won’t escape your mouth.

Jennette smiled victoriously. You may continue, Sir Jimmy, she happily declared, slightly over a whisper. She then curtseyed and took her place back in line.

Jimmy smirked and shrugged. Maybe, he said with a sigh, we do take some pleasure in ending the terror. He nodded in the direction of Conrad and Carrie, asking, Are you ready?

Jennette watched Conrad and Carrie smile, while enthusiastically nodding their heads. After which, she turned to Jimmy, and said, I believe it's time. But before we do this, Jimmy, I want to thank you for all that you have done to help me and my little brother and sister. We will never forget you.

Jennette turned and, again, nodded upwards. The intended movement gave Carrie and Conrad the signal. In unison, as if choreographed, Jennette, Carrie and Conrad slowly approached their abusers. Within two feet of the foster family that was paid to protect them, Jennette held out her arm restraining her younger siblings.

Carrie, holding a small iron kettle, and Conrad, with a heavy leather belt wrapped around his right fist, giggled and wiggled in their stance. Filled with anticipation, Carrie and Conrad were anxious to recompense their foster family for some of the pain they had incurred, and endured, all these months.

With a warm smile, Jennette stepped in front of her younger siblings. She pulled her blonde hair back and held it in an improvised ponytail. Feeling justified, she squinted and let her hair go, addressing her bound foster mother. Hello, Sandy, Jennette said, followed by a stream of spit to Sandy's face. Jennette paused to rub out a twitch in her nose. She then turned her attention towards her foster father. Hey, Charles, what's up?

As if anticipating spit or pain, Charles's eyes nearly shut, while his face scrunched red.

Nice look, Charles, Jennette said with a giggle. She rubbed her nose again and began to slowly pace back and forth, now stopping in front of Steven. The cookies I made, and that you all ate so plentifully… She smiled. Why Steven, you’re sweating so much, what’s up? She jerked, faking like she was going to kick him again.

Steven flinched, and a loud shriek was heard from beneath the handkerchief.

Conrad and Carrie covered their lips and giggled.

Jennette also chuckled at Steven's reaction. Well, she continued. The delicious cookies were filled with all the powder from Sandy's pills. Jennette scooted in front of Sandy and leaned to get eye-to-eye. You know the pills I'm talking about. Jennette smiled. The ones that make you feel all good inside, and that help you go to sleep at night. Jennette paused. But! she shouted and raised her right arm in the air. Did you know that your son gave them to me as well? She pointed at Steven. Oh yeah, momma bear, your baby bear wanted to make me feel all gooey inside? He fed me your liquor too, but you already knew that, didn't you? Jennette paused again, briefly. But none of that matters now. Jennette chuckled and shook her head. Man, you had a lot of pills stocked up; and so many doctors to give them to you. I'm glad though, because it helped make the batter so chewy and, well, from the looks of it, quite enjoyable…

So, Jimmy interrupted. You'll be asleep very soon. He smiled, mischievously. And you won't feel a thing; except the first hit that is. Jimmy nodded to Jennette, Carrie and Conrad. Now remember guys, only a few hits; we don't want to kill them.

The three adults gasped…

***

Shortly after, when the adults were mostly sedated, semi-conscious, and slightly bloodied, Jimmy took a picture of the three enslaved abusers. He used the Polaroid camera that Steven had recently purchased and frequently used on Jennette, while in compromising positions.

Once Charles, Sandy, and Steven were completely passed out, Jimmy and Jennette, with the assistance of Carrie and Conrad, moved them to their beds.

After securing their foster parents, they laid Steven atop his mattress, which sat on the floor.

Jimmy took a look around and sighed. Almost over, he whispered. He then ordered Jennette and the younger children out of the house. Get anything you want and that you can carry, he instructed. And take the good cookies and milk and whatever else is in the fridge. Put them into the wagon. But be quick about it. Then get out!

Jimmy waited for the young ones to clear the house. He then took another look in on Charles, Sandy, and Steven. Seeing that they were soundly asleep, Jimmy went to the kitchen and turned on all four of the stove's gas burners. He then blew out the flames, leaving only seeping gas coming from the dilapidated kitchen appliance.

Moving quickly, Jimmy walked back to the rear of the house. The addition was constructed so Steven could have a place of his own, secluded from parents and foster children. It turned out to be a house of horrors, where Steven freely smoked while he committed his perversions.

Jimmy took a lighter and lit one of Steven's cigarettes. He stood and took a puff. Seemingly enjoying the cigarette, he whispered, We're finally free. He took a long curious look at the cigarette and raised the lids of his eyes. That’s a good fuzzy feeling there Steven, thanks. I think I’ll take another for later.

Seemingly concerned that Jimmy was taking too long, Jennette opened the front door and leaned in. Hurry Jimmy! she yelled. You need to get out. Let's go!

Jimmy turned toward the voice and then took another puff. Okay, he whispered.

He then flinched when Jennette yelled, Now! That's an order!

I'm coming!

Jimmy bent again. He took another puff and then extended his hand next to the curtains, where Steven's hand was positioned. Jimmy placed the cigarette between Steven's fingers and rested the lit end on the curtain.

Hmm, it looks like Steven has started a fire.

Hurry! Jennette yelled.

On my way! Jimmy shouted in return. He quickly darted for the front door. Jimmy took hold of Jennette's hand, and the two ran for a clearing across the street from the home. They gathered Carrie and Conrad and, wagon in tow, moved further down the dirt road.

The four young warriors were safely out of harm's way when the foster home accidentally, yet tragically, blew up.

one

THIRTY-ONE YEARS LATER.

Lost in thought, Jennifer Reilly stared at the classroom whiteboard. It was filled with scribbles and half-teachings from the parade of guest speakers, and rotating social workers, who were paid to help trainees, like Jennifer, become qualified social service workers. It was the last day of the classroom induction process, yet she couldn’t concentrate.

Trying to relive the excitement she felt when she got the job, as well as remembering everything she’d been taught, Jennifer’s mind was distracted with darkness, which left her feeling somewhat depleted.

Focus, Jennifer reminded herself. And snap out of it.

Recently out of college, Jennifer was excited to learn all about the investigation process, as well as the inside workings of the system that was created to protect children from the monsters within their midst. Yet, at the moment, the only snippets of information she could recall were the horrifying stories of abuse and neglect against children. The most prevailing of the stories was the honest, self-exposing story of veteran social worker, Carrie Simpson. Carrie told of the extended abuse by her parents toward her, and her brother and sister; as well their story of survival in a foster home, which ended with them running away from their foster placement.

Despite the melancholy feeling the classroom moment brought, Jennifer knew the positive feelings would all come back to her. All she had to do was get through these last few hours, and then, tomorrow, there would be a mini-celebration, welcoming her and the others. The process would recognize those new trainees who’d made it through the induction process and were now part of the community of social workers.

Stay calm, Jennifer thought and took a bite of a doughnut provided by one of her peers for the potluck breakfast. Though they seemed fresh and chocolatey, she sneered at the bitter taste in her mouth. Jennifer then took a calculated breath and gave a forced smile in the direction of the instructor, and to herself whispered, Keep it together. You’ll be in the field in a couple of days.

After the morning break, Jennifer returned to her chair and sat patiently, using every ounce of energy to ignore and distract herself from the weight of the negative emotions that were hovering over her like a thundercloud, ready to open the floodgates of hail. She knew, however, that this was the beginning of the journey for which she was destined, and a process that, most likely, needed to be endured.

When she entered college, Jennifer didn’t quite know what she was called to do. Consequently, she took a number of general education courses and dabbled in her electives, hoping something would jump out at her. It wasn’t until she took a cultural anthropology class did Jennifer have a clue into her future. For the first time in her life she was introduced to significantly different people and lifestyles. Then, on the recommendation of a friend, who had taken the class and found it an easy ‘A’, Jennifer took a psychology class. The class turned out to be not only an easy ‘A’, but also an introduction to the understanding of human behavior; another eye-opening experience. The positive experiences gained in the two classes, led to other classes in the human services field; and eventually to sociology and social work.

Following the early break, the instructor surprised everyone in the room with the news that they were all getting the rest of the morning off.

Jennifer smiled at the good news.

I’ll see you all at the celebration tomorrow, the instructor said. Oh, and one last thing, I forgot to mention. Kate Montalvo is getting released from prison today.

Who’s that? Jennifer whispered while moving toward the door. More interested in getting a jump on the traffic than hearing the answer, Jennifer slid between curious classmates and out the door. She then made a mad dash for her car.

two

POURING RAIN WAS THE FIRST THING Kate Montalvo saw when she stepped through the thick, metal prison doors, escorted by her favorite guard, Candice Maroni. Kate stepped under the umbrella, held by Candice, and grunted. She then surveyed the thick gray clouds that blanketed the endless horizon. They seemed to touch the ground, while painting a mist that covered the tips of the hills that lined the barren countryside.

My first day of freedom, Kate groaned, in a low, sarcastic voice. The day is as dreary as the day I entered this God forsaken place.

So, you won’t be coming back then, will you? Candice asked.

Kate snickered. No, I suppose not, but...

Before she could get another word out, a flash of lightning bolted through the morning sky, illuminating the darkened prison walls and striking the distant meadow floor. Holy mother of Mary, Kate shouted. Then, over the deafening thunder, she yelled, Even God wants me dead! That was too damn close for my liking.

No turning back now, Candice encouraged. She smiled and wrapped her right arm around Kate, guiding her toward the prison gates.

***

Five hundred yards beyond the prison’s outer walls was a barely paved access road. Parked along the side of the road was a black Lexus. Sitting in the driver’s side seat was a young man dressed in full-black, traditional, limo garb, including a short-brimmed hat. He smoked a cigarette, while he constructed and reviewed a text message. He stopped briefly to enjoy nature’s light show, and take in the sounds of Heaven’s howls.

Awesome, the driver uttered, when the seat vibrated from the ferocious thunder. Then, watching lightning violently strike between rolling hills, through grinding teeth, he whispered, Perfect.

The driver sent the text message then flipped the cigarette’s ashes out the partly opened window. The ashy remnants quickly mixed with heavy rain, becoming one with nature’s fury. He looked at his watch and took another drag of his cigarette. The driver then leaned to the right, beyond the steering wheel, to turn on the car stereo. He pushed the a.m. button and flipped through the stations, searching for talk radio.

***

Good morning folks, David Epstein said, introducing the Dave and Ed morning radio show. The syndicated radio program aired daily, and had a large following throughout the United States. Welcome to the Dave and Ed show.

For those of you who are just tuning in, we have a special extended show for you this morning, announced Ed Wilbert, the other half of the Dave and Ed show. And we’ve opened up the phone lines to let you, the pubic, tell us what you think and feel about the release of Kate Montalvo, from prison.

That’s right, Dave quickly added. For the first time in American radio history, we are letting you, the listeners, run the show. Dave paused to look at Ed. What? I see the way you’re looking at me, and if all of you out there could see this; oh boy.

For the first time in American history? Ed asked, doused with sarcasm.

Okay. Let me amend my previous statement. Dave smirked. For the first time in the history of the Dave and Ed Show, we are letting the phones dictate the direction of our radio program. How’s that?

Better.

Okay then, for those of you who’ve lived in a cave, or, perhaps, are too young to remember twelve years ago, Kate Montalvo is, conceivably, the most notorious child abuser in history. As part of a plea arrangement, Kate agreed to name all of her, and her husband’s, victims from the foster home they ran. The total number of victims was well over two-hundred and spanned nearly a decade.

Wow, look at that Dave, Ed said. The phones are off the hook!

Well Ed, it appears that there’s a lot of people with things to say about Kate Montalvo.

Mostly pissed off, I’d say.

And, for the first time today, you’d be correct, Dave jabbed. He quickly moved on before Ed had a chance to respond. The abuses by Kate and her husband, Damien, included daily beatings, whippings, days of isolation, starvation, sleeping with dogs, and let’s see, what else?

Well Dave, at the expense of sounding stupid, you know, from not being right and all, I believe that there were a number of young girls who were repeatedly, sexually abused. If memory serves me right; and if the morning newspaper was accurate… Ed paused with a devious snicker.

I knew you got your facts from some other source than your brain, Dave barked. I knew you weren’t smart enough to retain all of that information. And to think, all this time I thought you actually generated your own ideas, and really could remember all the stuff you claim to.

Shush, don’t let the cat out.

Hmm.

"Anyways, these young girls, all around the age of ten, were penetrated, sodomized, and forced to provide oral copulation. The number of girls affected is unknown however, since Kate’s husband, Damien, took his own life in jail, awaiting trial. Some sources say that as many as forty girls were held, at different times, in a shed that the press deemed: Damien’s Den of Horrors."

***

When they reached the prison gates, Kate turned to Candice and gave her an overwhelming hug. Though they had spent the last seven years on opposite sides of the prison bars, they had become close friends. Kate offered Candice much solace during a time when her husband lost his job and began to drink heavily. The drinking took its toll and he became violent, on a regular basis. Kate’s words of spiritual counsel guided Candice, helping her gather the strength needed to finally leave her husband. Then, in the aftermath, Kate helped Candice make a new life for herself. Candice was eternally grateful, and Kate was given special privileges, which included unlimited internet access.

Awaiting Kate, just the other side of the gate, was a mob of reporters and enraged pedestrians. Kate moved back from the hug of sisterhood and took a deep breath. I can do this, she whispered. She then took another, deeper breath and gave Candice one last hug.

I know you can, honey, Candice whispered, chin pressed against Kate’s shoulder. You’re a strong woman.

three

"OKAY, LET’S HEAR WHAT YOU, the faithful, have to say, Dave said. Caller one, who identified himself as Mr. Sunshine, go ahead."

Well, I think Kate should have never gotten out of prison. I know she’ll rot in Hell for what she and her husband did to those poor kids. And, I also know that there are a lot of people who’ve been waiting for a chance to come face-to-face with that monster. And if I ever got her alone—watch out!

I bet they’ve been waiting, Dave remarked. He raised his eyebrows at Ed, and smirked. For curiosity’s sake, what would you do, Mr. Sunshine, if you got her alone?

If I told you, I’d have to blow up the radio station. You wouldn’t want that, now would you?

No, no, no, no. Dave chuckled. I don’t think so. Our producers would kill us. He glanced at Ed and shrugged. Well then Mr. Sunshine, is there anything else you’d like to add?

Nope, I don’t think so. If there is, I’ll get back in touch.

Well, thank you for the call, Mr. Sunshine.

Ed shook his head and squinted. Well then… he said, overtaking the radio airspace. It sounds like she’s quite a target. I wonder where Kate Montalvo will hide out.

Good question, Dave responded.

***

Kate spent the next five minutes trying to escape the angry mob, and hiding her face from the relentless press. When she finally broke through, Kate raced for the lone car along the access road.

The driver of the black Lexus glanced in his mirror. He noticed Kate rushing for the car. He sent another text message and quickly hung up his cell phone. Before Kate made it to the Lexus, the driver exited and stood by the right rear door.

Are you Ms. Montalvo? the driver asked.

Yeah! Kate shouted, over an extended blast of thunder.

You look different than I thought.

Is that a bad thing?

No, ma’am, the driver reassured. You look way better.

Thank you, son. Kate smiled at her reflection in darkened window.

You’re welcome ma’am. The driver opened the door and held it for Kate to enter.

I had some help, Kate said, entering the back seat of the Lexus.

Fifty-pounds lighter, and fresh from daily exercise, Kate was half the woman who’d been sent to prison. Having a new, curvy body wasn’t enough however, Kate wanted a different, more modern, look; one that might attract the man she should’ve married. Kate’s longtime cellmate, Nancy Donovan, helped with her transformation.

Nancy had been a successful cosmetologist before stabbing her boyfriend thirty-five times with her cutting shears. Despite having five-years left on her prison sentence, Nancy kept up with the latest designs and products. She was very helpful with Kate’s hair and makeup. As a result, when she exited the prison gates, Kate could not be recognized from her old photos. Yet scores of onlookers and protesters wanted a glimpse of the new and improved poster child for evil.

The driver scurried back to the driver’s side door. He opened it and kicked the side of the undercarriage to remove the buildup of mud on his patent leather shoes.

Let’s go, Kate impatiently shouted.

Yes ma’am. The driver entered carrying an extra pound of muddied turf with him.

When the driver seemed settled, Kate grunted.

The driver turned. Is everything okay, ma’am?

Yes, she barked. Now get me the hell out of here, please. And get me something to drink. I don’t have to report to the P.O. right away, at least in person, so I’m going to get drunk.

Yes ma’am, the driver politely said, as he drove along the wet, muddied road that would free Kate from the prison grounds.

Kate sighed. I’m glad I put away a lot of that money, she said, referring to the thousands of dollars she’d embezzled, and hid, from the Department of Social Services. Originally a social worker, Kate figured out a way to make a lot more money by being a foster parent. So she hung up her social work hat and started housing the kids who she’d spent the previous two years placing. If I didn’t have my money, she continued. I’d be on that hideous bus over there. With her right thumb, Kate pointed to a public bus that was often used by released prisoners, taking them to local towns.

Yes ma’am, the driver said, politely responding to Kate’s rant. He smiled and quickly looked into the rearview mirror, stealing a look at the notorious child abuser. The Agency has arranged a room for you, ma’am, about thirty miles from here. There was so much attention paid to your release that all the local rooms were sold out. But they made sure to get you a room in a secluded area to minimize your exposure.

Thank you, son, she said. That’s very nice of you—and them. Kate turned and took one last look at the prison. See ya!

Just relax ma’am, the driver said. I’ll let you know when we’re close. He then pushed the CD button on the car stereo. The haunting sounds of Loreena McKennitt’s, All Souls Night, surrounded the airspace. I hope you don’t mind, ma’am.

No problem, son.

The music’s kind of dark though. The driver glanced back at Kate.

Oh, how so? Kate looked out the side window. What do you have?

"Well there’s the daunting tale, Vicious Traditions, by the Veils."

Never heard of it.

"What about Johnny Cash’s dark epic of human tragedy—Hurt?"

Sounds interesting, Kate said, only slightly enthusiastic. What else do you got?

"Well there’s, She’s lost Control, by Joy Division, and the agonizing cult classics, In Shreds, by the Chameleons UK, and Nervous Breakdown, by Black Flag."

Sounds like quite an anthology you have there, son. Kate paused and shook her head. I really don’t care. Whatever you want. Kate sat back, resting her head on the plush interior. She then took a deep breath, absorbing the freshly cleaned, car smell. That smell. She breathed in again. What a welcomed scent, particularly after years of ingesting those unforgettable, vile, prison odors.

Relax ma’am, the driver insisted.

Kate sighed and nestled into the thick interior.

Thirty-one minutes into the journey, Kate awoke, from a brief nap, to the sound of