Chapter Thirteen-
Meg ran the words of her closing argument in her head for what seemed like a hundred times. And every time, she felt distracted, either by the eloquent and impassioned words of her opponent giving his speech, or from the fact that that damned Mortality Report was still nowhere to be found.
She put on a brave face for the sake of Jennifer, who did likewise for her. Time was almost up, though. If Meg couldn't convince the jury, even after her last chance to do so, here and now, then the game was up. And in this court, there was no such thing as appeal.
Meg was just listening to the Devil go into a speech about the death of Americana, and how it pertained to the case, when her cell phone buzzed.
She discreetly answered it and was surprised to hear Death on the other end. She could also hear what sounded like police and paramedic sirens whooping in the background.
"Death," Meg whispered softly. "I can't talk right now. It's closing arguments. It's my last chance. What is it?"
"Your last chance," Death said simply. "You, uh, didn't forget about that report, did ya?"
"No. But I couldn't find it anywhere. Why?"
"Because you may have been given a last trump card to play, kid. You'll never guess where I am. Irony Town. Population: 1. I'm at an accident site. Looks like 'Ol Ragg's chauffeur just bit the big one. He totaled the limo in a DUI. His boss is being questioned down at the station."
"Okay. But how does that help me?"
"You told me that you went through his house, right?"
"Yeah."
"Did you ever check his office?"
Meg gave a morose sigh. "I saw his office when he interviewed me that day. There was nothing there that I could see." She could see the Devil finishing up. "Look, I'll talk to you after the trial. Hopefully, to say I won."
"Alright. I'll see ya later."
Both hung up, and Meg went to the front of the courtroom after the Devil sat down. She turned to face the people there, speech in her mind, and froze.
Not out of stage fright, though she did have butterflies in the stomach on her way to the front. She froze because she didn't think she could do it. It felt too…premature.
To her, giving a closing argument, at that moment, meant that she considered herself finished, done with the case. It signaled to her clients that she did everything she could to get them freed. But she knew in her heart and soul that that was not the case. She still had things she could do, even if she didn't have much time to do them.
In truth, she never did give Ragg's office a thorough going over, simply because he was there that day with her, just as she told Death. But what if he did hide it there? This was for Jennifer's soul. In good conscience, she couldn't rest until every single possibility was exhausted, regardless of whether or not Meg felt foolish going over the same ground twice.
The judge, not seeing the inner turmoil roiling through Meg, asked her if she were going to give closing arguments, or not.
Meg ignored him and stared at Jennifer and the others, even the old man. Trust was the issue. It always was.
Then a thought struck her like a thunderbolt to the spine. She was closer to the report than she ever knew and all she had to do was stop and think. It was right under her nose. Or rather, over it.
Meg laughed out loud, and it made the court, as a whole, feel awkward. She made up her mind, turned to face the judge's bench and raised her hand in both an attention-getting and placating manner.
"Your Honor, at this time, I would like to request an emergency personal recess," she said formally.
"What the me?" The Devil yelled, glaring at Meg. The judge didn't look any happier at her, and it became a toss-up in her mind as to who was the scarier.
Still, she maintained. "Please, Your Honor. It is crucial that I be someplace today. I would like to request an emergency personal recess."
"Your Honor," the Devil exclaimed from his bench. "It's bad enough that this so-called lawyer is time-wastingly incompetent, but do we have to add that she's a bad liar, too? This is obviously a delay tactic on her part."
The judge considered that seriously, and then turned to Meg, for want of an explanation.
"Well, Miss Griffin?" he asked sternly. "Is this some sort of delay tactic to postpone the verdict until the next day?"
"Next day?" Meg asked back, momentarily befuddled. She hadn't thought about disappearing that long during the recess, just long enough to check out her theory. After that, if she was wrong, she would get back up to the front of the courtroom and sing her closing arguments to appease the jury, if need be.
She debated to herself on her next course of action. If she said that she wanted to leave until tomorrow, she ran the risk that that would be too long a wait for her, and the judge wouldn't allow it. If she said that she would come back later the same day, it might please the judge enough to allow that.
Putting on her most innocent face, Meg said to him, "It's nothing that serious, Your Honor. I just need to, uh, buy some new videotape at the store. There's a Touched By An Angel Marathon coming on, and don't want to miss it. I'll be back here in a few hours, in time to wrap this case up. Honest."
The judge considered her words, grumbling a bit under his breath as he thought. Meg held her trusting smile, but her eye twitched in apprehension. The judge was deliberating this way too long for her liking.
At last, the judge said, "Very well. After all the commotion earlier and then summoning you two to my chambers, the court should have a chance to settle down from all of that. Recess is granted. We will reconvene in two hours." He banged his gavel to close the matter.
Meg skipped back to her bench and began packing her attaché in a hurry. Jennifer was visibly confused by the turn of events, seeing everybody standing up and gathering to leave all of the sudden.
"Meg?" she asked pensively. "What's going on? Is the trial over? Did we win?"
"No," Meg answered, perhaps too quickly. "I mean…I mean, no, the trial's not over yet. There's still one thing I have to do first, and I hope this'll work." She grabbed her case and fast-walked up the aisle, calling back to her, "Wish me luck!"
Jennifer, taken aback by the unexpected and frenetic activity, said simply to Meg's receding back, "Good luck."
Unbeknownst to anyone present, the Devil made a call on his cell phone…
Meg woke with a start. She didn't have much time before she had to get back. She changed out of her courtroom clothes and into her more familiar ones. Freshened up in the bathroom quietly and then crept down the stairs.
It was early yet and everyone was still asleep throughout the house, but that would change soon. This was still a school day, and the morning routine would be reenacted yet again upon their awakening, except this time, Meg would simply have beaten them to the punch.
Meg grabbed a bite from the refrigerator and then headed for the front door. After carefully opening and then closing it again, she still faced the door and took a bracing gulp of air to help her stay focused and to give her fortitude. If she was right about where the report was hidden, she could blow the case wide open. The plans of Evil would be foiled big-time, at least for a while.
But the seesaw battle between Good and Evil didn't concern Meg as much as the look on Jennifer's face when she told her that she was free and innocent. Meg knew that that would be worth more than gold itself.
Turning from the door, she was about to walk in the direction of where she parked on the curb, when her vision was filled with sight of textured black.
A man wearing a combination of ski mask, jacket, pants and boots, all black, reached out to grab Meg by the shoulders. Meg gave a panicked squeak, ducked at the last second, and ran out from under his open arms.
Meg's mind raced. She had no idea who that man was or why he was sneaking around the outside of the house. He did look familiar to her, however, and in spite of her fright, she recalled the night those burglars broke into the house. Although they were eventually apprehended, along with herself, for giving in to her rape fantasy and forcing herself on them, the man behind her now didn't seem to be as friendly as her erstwhile capturers.
She spared a glance to see if he was following, and he was, though at a somewhat slower pace than she, almost as if he knew something she didn't. Or knew someone.
Meg slammed into another body she didn't expect and the surprise shocked her into freezing where she stood while she gathered her wits again.
This man, similarly dressed, also reached out to grab her by the shoulders, and succeeded, turning her around violently so that she now stood with her back to him. He brought one of his large arms around her neck and held her in a chokehold.
Meg fought the terror that threatened to cloud her reason and judgment. So far, all the man was doing was restraining her, albeit rather tightly, but that could change. She needed an out. Some kind of vulnerability she could exploit.
Meg noticed after squirming for a moment, that her arms were pinned to her sides by the man's other arm, but they were free enough to just put behind her. She had an idea, but it would have to be done accurately the very first time, or else the man would know it was coming and move.
She mentally pictured where his crotch would be, felt for it as she was held to him, and picked her moment. Now.
Meg reached behind, palmed his crotch, and upon satisfaction of finding it, hooked her fingers into his groin hard. Very hard.
The man released her with a bellow and Meg flew out of his grasp, only to run back into the first man, who was waiting with a white cloth that even from Meg's closing distance, smelled very strong.
He learned what a wildcat this girl was and planned accordingly. As she was grabbed, he jacked one of her arms into a painful chicken wing, as he brought the other arm with the chloroform-soaked rag around, and held it hard against her face.
Between the exertion of trying to evade her captors and the pain of the arm folded up against her back that way, Meg began huffing and puffing into the rag. She knew she should hold her breath, but it was hard to catch, and her body didn't want to argue the point.
Soon, sooner than she thought possible, her eyelids grew heavy with sleep, and her legs wobble on their own. What started as loud, muffled protestations, soon turned into low-toned, incoherent mumbling, as all of her muscles slackened and she drooped in her captor's embrace, unconscious.
He let her collapse on the morning cold ground as he signaled an anonymous looking black van that was parked across the street.
The partner of the one who finally caught Meg, limped a little back to where the two were. When he reached her, he swore and gave her insensate body a harsh kick in anger.
With a chuckle, his successful partner grabbed her up under her arms, while the angry one grabbed her by the knees, and as one, they carried her quickly to the open rear doors of the van. Once the doors closed, the van sped out of Spooner Street.
The sounds of wailing could be heard coming from the jacket pocket of Mr. Scratch as he relaxed back in Hell. He was in one of his more favorite haunts, a cozy, little jazz café called Sizzles.
Though it distracted him from listening to the stage act, a trio of succubae who called themselves, The Fallen Angels, he decided to answer.
"Good news, I trust?" he asked, while tapping his hand in time to the singers.
"Very good news," Ragg said on the other end. "Those guys you pointed out to me did their job great. Meg's on her way to a very violent end, and those souls are as good as in my hands already. Thanks to you, old buddy."
"Ah, it was nothing at all. Remember, your happiness is what I'm all about. Say, I'm cooling out at this club I like to go to sometimes. How about, when all of this nonsense is taken care of, I bring you by for a drink."
"Well, that sounds mighty nice of you. But I don't want to impose."
"Nonsense," the Devil said with an anticipatory smile on his lips. "It's all on me. I'll talk to you soon."
He hung up and leaned back in the comfortable chair of his reserved V.I.P. area. Things were, apart from a complication or two, proceeding apace.
The girls were finishing up their song as the audience clapped quietly in appreciation. They were not a bad group. He figured he could call them over sometime for a personal performance.
The sky was growing dim with dark clouds and low thunder, as the black van flew along the highway, heading out of town. In the back, Meg, still unconscious, laid prone on the dirty, tool-strewn floor, directly behind the black-clad driver's and the front passenger seat.
Behind her, gathered further in the back towards the rear doors sat the three other kidnappers. Although they accosted an innocent young woman in front of her very house, they sat with an ease that came from years of camaraderie.
"So we all know the plan, same as before," the one who chloroformed Meg with the rag said. "We drive to the woods outside of town, take turns raping Four-eyes here, kill her, and dump her body in the creek." Turning to address one of the men, he said further. "Hey, I been meaning to ask you before the job, what's in the bag?"
The one who failed to catch Meg sat protectively by a full grocery bag. "Oh, well, this is some stuff for my little girl's birthday later today," he said. "I want it to be special, so I told my wife that I would be doing the shopping this time. I got some balloons, cake mix, chocolate frosting, fireworks, a pinata and some rope to hang it on. It'll be great."
"That's so sweet. She's a lucky girl," said the one who opened the doors for them, after the attack. "So, after we rape and kill this one, could we come over for some cake?"
"Gentlemen, I would be honored if you could come over. I insist," Bag Man said with mock-gentility.
The driver, overhearing the conversation, exclaimed jokingly, "Well, as long as you insist!" Then added, "Did you guys know that chocolate is considered an aphrodisiac?"
Bag Man brightened at that. "Yeah? Well, in that case, I'll give my wife a whole container of frosting for after the party."
A chorus of salacious chuckling rang around the van's interior.
"Yep. Married for all of ten years," Bag Man told the men upon wistful recollection. "My wife's one of a kind." He then pointed at Meg, giving her no more thought than if she were a sack of potatoes. "You guys wanna start on her when we get there, or should I?"
Door Man shrugged with equal dispassion. "Like it matters. Though we normally get 'em better looking than her."
"Doesn't matter to me," Rag Man said indifferently. "I've been in prison for six years. I won't know the difference."
That sparked another chuckle throughout the van. However, not everyone inside laughed. Astral Meg stood over her prone form, unseen by her attackers, and looking quite pissed.
From her vantage point behind the driver's seat, she could see the highway signs that told her that she was probably on her way to Maine, if her fellow passengers weren't going to commit heinous crimes on her person before she ever got there.
All of their pleasant small talk, so far, didn't impress her. They were obviously heartless killers and she needed to get out of there while she still had time. 'This kidnapping could not have happened at a worst time,' she fretted in the Devil and Ragg had more than a hand in this.
The back of the van was musty with the pong of old motor oil, rust, beer, faded chloroform, and the fear-formed tears, sweat and blood of former reluctant passengers. To Meg, it stank just as bad as that homeless man she had to…
Possess!
"We're almost there, guys," Wheel Man called out. "Another mile or two."
Meg decided it was time to cut this trip short. She took a breath that her soul didn't need to brace herself for the plunge, picked for her first victim the one who knocked her out, and entered him.
Rag Man felt the slightest shudder, like a cascading tingle throughout his body. He simply dismissed it as his body telling him that he had to go to the bathroom. He would have plenty of time for that while his partners in crime took their time with Meg.
But the subject of his fleeting thought had successfully rested in his body, and, a moment later, had taken control of him enough that he couldn't tell where she left off and he began. His hand slowly tightened into a hidden fist.
Bag Man had told a joke in that space of time, and was laughing to himself. So the punch that connected to his mouth, with tooth-jarring solidity, was an utter surprise to him and Door Man.
"Hey, man! The joke wasn't that bad!" Door Man cried out as Bag Man fell back and banged his already ringing head against the side of the van. Hard.
His vision blurred like an old film caught in a projector, as he scrambled unsteadily back to his feet, ready for Round Two.
Blood and spittle flowed from his mouth as he spat out a vicious curse at Rag Man, who just sat where he was and smiled insipidly.
"Just for that, no ice cream for you, and I had Cookies and Cream, man," he said, though it almost was indecipherable due to his ruined mouth.
With speed born of adrenaline, anger, and pain, he sped a right hook into his assailant that rocked Rag Man almost off his bench.
Righting himself and looking at Bag Man with murder in his one good, non-swollen eye, Meg made Rag Man growl, "I like Cookies and Cream." Then she launched him at Bag Man.
Door Man, meanwhile was doing everything he could to be peacekeeper. From reason, to threats, to rebuffed restraint that he gave to one or the other, all of it was ignored in the pursuit the two erstwhile friends trying to beat the ever loving piss out of each other.
Meg hadn't been in too many fights in her life, but in the few she did engage in, she was a terror. Bag Man, to his credit, held his own, but it was like fighting a wild, unsupervised animal.
She had to move fast to incapacitate the others before they reached their destination. The two she got to fight might hate each other in the long run, but they'd shelve their animosity to still deal with her, and that was not an option.
In the space of a time granted during a brief grapple, Meg made Rag Man do a quick glance over at Door Man to see what he was doing. Door Man had since gave up trying to stand between them, and was sitting there watching them duel, with a fight program in one hand and a beer in the other.
Meg made her move. She drew herself out of her puppet and ran into Door Man, catching him completely unaware.
Wheel Man glanced up to see through the rear view mirror and asked tensely, "Hey, what's going on back there? Did that girl wake up, or something?"
Door Man, who was seated next to the sleeping Meg, said slyly, "Sort of." He then stood up, stepped over her, and punched Wheel Man squarely in the back of his ski masked head.
The punch, which struck the softer base of the skull, nearly stunned the driver, and while he nodded off incoherently for a moment, the van swerved and powered into a wooded path off the highway.
Recovering and clearly angry at the attack, Wheel Man turned around in his seat, unthinkingly, to fight back. Cursing, he swung with a free hand at Door Man, who easily ducked away from him.
Reason prevailed and Wheel Man was forced to keep his eyes back on the road. When he did, he screamed.
To his horror, the view became a maelstrom of tree branches and underbrush, as the van haphazardly flew down a slope made slippery with dead leaves and dew.
Wheel Man gave it every bit of his years of experience driving everything from get-away cars to go-carts, but gravity made the van its plaything, as it picked up more speed and even less control. Having Door Man laughing in his ear, like a man possessed, which incidentally was the case, didn't help matters.
Amazingly, the two men in the back were still duking it out when the van finally leveled off in a clearing. Wheel Man spun the van out, putting both feet on the brake pedal, when the van skidded into the side of a half-rotted log that laid on the ground like a camouflaged speed bump, which was strong enough, with the vehicle's current high speed, to flip it into a bad roll-out.
The van's occupants tumbled and bounced off the sides of the interior like action figures in a blender. Astral Meg, however, not wanting her body damaged, had Door Man hold her tight, to act as a buffer against bad knocks.
At last, the van rolled to a smoking rest right side up against a large tree, which gave it a nasty dent on the side that collided with it. Then, all was still.
In a few minutes' time, the birds, which were spooked out of the area by the van's passage, returned and sang songs of warning and concern, which, to anyone listening, still sounded lovely.
The sound of metal clacking against metal could be heard from the rear of the stricken van. The handle of one of the rear doors moved slightly, and then fell off. The doors then swung free on their own accord when the lock failed.
Meg stepped out cautiously, yawned, and then walked a few paces from the wreck. She filled her lungs with the cool, wet air of the forest and turned around to look at the interior of the van and the people therein.
No one stirred within. They were all unconscious and resting in various poses, some not comfortable to a conscious body. Meg noticed a thin line, like spider web, span from one side of her vision.
Taking her glasses off, she could see that even she was not untouched by the crash. But slightly cracked glasses wouldn't deter her. They were still functional enough to see by, and she still had things to do.
She ran over to the front of the vehicle and opened the driver's side door. Pushing Wheel Man over, Meg searched until she found the hood release lever and pulled it.
The hood popped itself unlocked and Meg went to it to open it up. The engine didn't look too bad, upon inspection, however the radiator was cracked and was leaking coolant into the grass.
Meg sighed. She was going to need to get this heap back onto the highway and break a few speed records getting back into town. But first, she had to get rid of some dead weight.
She managed to pull and drag the killers out of the van and lay them side-by-side a few yards away from the vehicle. It was tough doing, but it was done. Taking a breather, Meg looked down at them, helpless and out cold, and thought back to what could have happened had she not take control of the situation.
"Those bastards were going to kill me," Meg thought aloud, vehemently. She knew that she had to get the van started and carefully drive back up the slope and into the highway again, but all that ran through her mind was the fact that she almost died by their grubby, bloodstained hands.
"Son of a bitch must pay," she said to herself, and got down to work.
It was a long while before the four men gradually began to wake up again, albeit painfully. Headaches and bruises were the order of the day.
Door Man would be the first to notice it. He woke to find himself facing a strong, slender tree. He tried to stand up and noticed further that he couldn't. He was on his knees. Upon even further analysis in keeping with his rising awareness, he noticed that he was hugging the tree in question and, when attempting to let go, couldn't, because his wrists were effectively bound.
"Hey!" he cried out to any and all who might hear him. "Hey, guys? What's going on? I can't get up."
"Yeah," Rag Man chimed in. "I know. We all can't." He, too, was similarly positioned against a similar tree.
"Can you move your arms?" asked Bag Man.
"No," Rag Man surly answered. "But I think we were just rolled. Look."
On the ground in a small pile nearby, four wallets lay. Even from where they were, they could see that all the money was taken from them. Beside them were four pairs of boots with the laces gone.
Also on the ground and leading away from the crash site, were fresh tire tracks and a trail of leaking fluid that ran back towards the treacherous slope that brought them here in the first place.
But the most alarming thing discovered was that when they managed to turn their heads to see these things, they also saw that they weren't wearing their pants or underwear. Moreover, a strange brown paste was smeared across their buttocks.
"I don't believe this," Wheel Man said incredulously. "That little bitch tied us up with our boot laces and took our money and our van, man. And then took our pants? This is too much."
"Yeah," Bag Man said, trying to free himself again and failing to get enough leverage to succeed. "And what is that brown stuff on our butts? Looks like that time my daughter crapped herself and I forgot to change her."
Door Man thought he knew and said, "It smells like…chocolate?"
It was then that they all heard a noise, a heavy rustling through the underbrush a few yards away from the quartet. And a heavier, bestial breathing accompanied it.
Their collective hearts leapt up into their collective throats, as the terrifying sight of a fully-grown male bear made it way closer and closer to where they were.
All pretenses at being hardened, professional criminals went out the window as they all pulled, tugged and squirmed in a panic against their bonds, which only tightened more in their struggles. And alerted the bear more to their presence.
The bear snuffed and sniffed in the direction of their derrieres, and as the men whimpered in earnest fear, Bag Man noticed one last thing. On the ground, between his knees, was a small Post-it note with a question hastily scrawled.
"Question: Do you think bears consider chocolate an aphrodisiac, too?" he read aloud.
If he had an answer, smart-assed or not, he kept it to himself, as he and his other cohorts screamed to no one in particular, as the bear reared up to his full animal height, its fangs bared and its rutting bellow echoing in the morning mists.
The van shuddered and leaked on its way back to Quahog city limits.
Meg drove like a madwoman and was silently thankful to escape from those men and to not attract the attention of highway patrol on her frantic way back.
She had the radio on and her pockets were bulging with lifted cash. She had to hold on to some of it when her pants had no more room, clutching dollar bills between the rim of the steering wheel and her hands.
Hopefully, when all was said and done, she would spend this money in honor of those sick bastards who were probably some lucky carnivore's hearty breakfast by now, if the chocolate frosting she used had anything to do with it.
In a dark place in Meg's mind, that ultimately proved to be far more dangerous than the kidnappers ever though possible, she reasoned, with an even more dangerous smile, that in some way, they did do everything according to plan. There was going to be a rape, of sorts, and a killing. They just didn't get the victim right.
'Oh, well,' she thought, as she entered town at last. 'The Devil is in the details.'