Justice For All

Justice For All

M J Parker

The storm came out of nowhere, rolling over the big rig like a colossal wave over a schooner.

                        The rain pelted the windshield with the intensity of a hailstorm without the hard little pellets. Instead, the water created a mini river that was swiped away by his wipers as fast as they would move. A few miles into the storm, the rain turned to snow. The further Edgar went, the heavier it seemed to fall. There had been no report of a winter storm on the radio; yet here it was, covering the highway with a wet, white blanket that piled up along the shoulder where it grew unhindered. Snow wasn’t unheard of this early in the fall, but it was rare. The first real snowstorm of the season seemed to catch the removal crews by surprise. It could be hours before a snowplow appeared.

                        The semi drifted into the right lane, perilously close to the median. Edgar didn’t panic, he was too seasoned for that. Gently, he guided the truck back where it belonged. With slow deliberation, being careful not to overcorrect the vehicle, he turned the steering wheel – first left then right – realigning the fishtail that was building in the back end of the trailer until he’d evened the rig out. At fifty-two years of age, he’d been a truck driver for more than half his life. He’d seen things that would scare most people off the road forever, yet he’d never had a serious accident. A fact he was mighty proud of.

                        A smile stretched across his lips as he drove. Tonight had been special. Every time was special, but this had been extra special. Edgar rubbed at the knot just below his collar bone where he’d taken a blow that had staggered him, nearly knocking him on his bee-hind. Luckily, he’d fall against a tree that kept him upright with his feet under him. His chest still hurt but, man, what a rush! The girl’s vim had surprised him; she’d seemed so passive at first.

                        The semi tried to drift again, helped along by the wind that had grown stronger the further north he went. What had begun as a strong breeze was now near blizzard conditions. The gusts strong enough to force his truck from its path. The wheels caught the rumble strip. The truck bumped along it, the noise of it muffled by the fallen snow.

                        Lifting his foot from the accelerator, Edgar let the truck drift slowly down to a more manageable speed while he patiently worked the steering wheel until the rig was back in its proper place in the lane. Grimacing, he rubbed at his chest again. Luckily, he hadn’t seen anyone on the road for hours. The thought brought a grin to his face. The snow was coming down in a frenzied, dizzying dance obscuring the road so completely, an entire procession could be dead ahead and he’d see nothing until they were too close for him to avoid hitting. The truck had slowed to fifty miles per hour and he still couldn’t see more than a foot ahead of his bulldog hood ornament. Five miles later, he couldn’t see the bulldog. It was time to get off the interstate.

                        Easing the semi to the right, Edgar crept along the shoulder keeping the rumble strip under his tires. He knew there was an exit coming up in less than a mile, the key was finding it in time. Then – suddenly –  it was there. The rumble strip gave way to the smooth pavement of the exit as the big rig drifted forward, shrouded in white. Edgar jerked the wheel to the right while applying the brake, in hopes of keeping the truck on the slick road as he pulled up to the stoplight at the end of the exit lane. The truck skidded on the snow-packed pavement, sliding harmlessly into the intersection of the empty street. Edgar released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It came out with a hard, “Ha!” He jumped in spite of himself, then gave a nervous laugh.

                        “I’m getting too old for this,” he said, not meaning it.

                        Shifting into low gear, Edgar coaxed the truck back to the right, drifting slowly towards town. He couldn’t remember if there were any truck stops at this exit, but he was sure he’d at least find a parking lot where he could wait out the storm. The truck plugged along, passing block after empty block of deserted street.

                        At last, off to the right, a neon light pierced the storm, blinking first red then green. Though the colors were visible, he couldn’t read what the sign said. Edgar was hoping it was a diner. He was also hoping the sign said, “OPEN”.

                        Breaking carefully, he flipped on his blinker and glided into the parking lot. Passing the sign that was now clearly visible, he made his way to the truck parking area around the back. The sign blinked: “All-Night” then “Diner” as he drove passed.

                        “Hot dog!” he thought. He’d grab a cup of coffee and a hot meal then ride out the rest of the storm in his sleeper. Whistling tunelessly, he shut down the truck. Marking the time and reason for stopping in his logbook, he swung out of the cab, locking the doors behind him.

                        As he dropped to the asphalt, three things occurred to him in quick succession. One, he’d left his coat in the cab. Two, his chest was throbbing now, feeling hot, tight, and getting more painful with each breath. Turning his head to the left, he gave a deep cough that seemed to ease the pain a little, as realization number three occurred to him: the asphalt was hella slick! He pin-wheeled his arms in a struggle to keep to his feet, his cowboy boots offering no traction. Instead, they acted like skis on the icy pavement. He slid across the parking lot, precarious in his balance until his boot tips caught the curb and he was able to step-hop up onto the sidewalk. The small ice-melt stones crunched under his feet as he landed, providing the traction his soles lacked. A shaky laugh burst from his lips.

                        “That could have been bad,” he muttered to himself.

                        There were bells above the cafe door that jingled merrily when he entered, calling attention to his arrival. A waitress with lots of blonde hair piled into a messy bun on her head and too much make-up on her face stood behind the register taking money from a customer. She beamed a smile in his direction.

                        “Go ahead and choose a seat,” she said, her words tinged with a southern accent, “I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

                        Edgar surveyed the place with a practiced eye. There were nineteen booths, two large tables, and a counter that could seat sixteen. Two big-screen TVs hung at opposite ends of the room. Three booths and two counter seats were occupied; a man sitting with two young boys in one booth made eye-contact with him. The two men nodded at each other.

                        Edgar made his way to a small booth at the back of the restaurant. It gave him a perfect view of the whole cafe, including the door, while keeping his back to the wall. Call it paranoia, but it made him nervous to have others sitting behind him.

                        The waitress had finished up with her customers and, tucking a menu under her arm, was walking towards him with a smile on her face. Dimples showed in her cheeks and her blue eyes seemed to twinkle beneath all that eyeshadow. Her blue uniform strained against her breasts, nipped in at her tiny waist, and hugged her rounded hips, stopping short just above the knee to showcase her shapely legs. Only the white nurses’ shoes looked out of place on her. With the exception of those shoes, she reminded him of a country singer with her big hair, southern accent, small stature, and sultry walk. She’d be pretty, too, if she wore less make-up.

                        He could fix that.

                        A little old, though. She had to be at least forty. Twenty-something was his usual pool, though he dipped a little younger if the girl was right. Perhaps tonight – this special night – it was time to go a little older. Experiment a little.

                        The thought sent something stirring deep inside him. It surprised him, having already fed the Beast, but perhaps his fun hadn’t been as satisfying as he’d thought earlier. Perhaps tonight, for the first time, he’d found two perfect women, in two separate states, to feed his appetite on the same night. He rubbed absently at his chest, a cold smile on his lips. It was gone in an instant, hidden behind the wall with the Beast.

                        “How ya’ll doin’ tonight?” The waitress set a glass of ice water and a menu in front of him.

                        “Fine, Darlin’. How’s your night?” He matched her accent.

                        “Where you from, honey?” She asked with a smile. “I don’t hear many southern accents around these parts. Wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess.” She placed a shapely finger next to her mouth, the long nail painted red with a clear gem in the middle. “Louisiana? No! No. It’s closer to my Mississippi sound but not quite right. Alabama! Am I right?”

                        “Yes,” Edgar lied. “How’d you do that? No one ever guesses my accent.”

                        “Oh, I’m just good at accents.” She smiled again, dimples cutting deep into her cheeks.

                        Edgar licked his lips.

                        “You look hungry. Do ya know what ya want, or do ya need a few minutes?” She asked, her head cocked to one side.

                        “I know what I want.” The Beast rattled at the cage. With great effort, Edgar held him at bay. Slowly, he whispered in his mind. To the waitress he said, “How about a big mug of coffee and the Chicken Fried Steak meal.”

                        “Soup or salad, honey?” She asked as she picked up the menu from the table.

                        “Salad. Blue Cheese dressing.”

                        “Alright. Oh! I’m Darla, by the way.” The dimples flashed again as she spoke. “I’ll be your waitress.”

                        “Darla. Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he replied, sinking an extra dose of charm into his tone. “I’m gonna go wash up. Now, don’t let anyone take my seat.”

                        “Don’t you worry a second about that. I’ll have your coffee waiting right for you when you get back.”

                        As he watched her walk away, her hips swaying seductively, he felt the Beast swelling inside. Not yet. Not yet, he coaxed calmly, silently.

                        The men’s room was at the end of a long hallway. It was small but it was clean, except for the large gray rat huddled in the corner, whiskers quivering while two beady black eyes stared at him. Disgust curled Edgar’s lip.

                        “Hit the road, vermin,” he ordered, throwing a wadded ball of paper towels at the animal. With a squeak it dodged the throw and escaped through a hole in the wall. Edgar knelt down to examine it. It seemed too small for the rat to squeeze through, yet it had. Grabbing up the paper towels, he wadded them tightly together then pushed them into the hole, successfully plugging it.     

                        Satisfied, Edgar used the facilities before planting himself in front of the mirror to take stock in his appearance. He should have done that first thing, it was a rookie mistake to wait this long, but ever since he’d skated across the parking lot, he’d felt a little off his game. As if the rest of the world was moving a beat faster than him.

                        His face was looking good; no scratches, bruises, or other marks. The hair on his head looked windblown but that was an easy fix. He pulled a plastic comb from his back pocket and smoothed out his hair. The comb seemed to resist returning home to his pocket, but, at last, he got it back in there. With shaking hands, he unbuttoned his shirt revealing a deep purple bruise where he’d taken a kick earlier in the evening. Prodding gently, he checked that his ribs were still intact. There were no breaks that he could feel, it all seemed to be superficial. Damage to the muscle and skin was all, though it hurt like hell. It took three tries to get his buttons done up again.

                        Edgar opened and closed his fists several times, pumping up the veins in his arms, working his fingers trying to ease the shakes. The Beast pushed hard at its cage. Edgar grasped the sides of the sink meeting himself eye-to-eye in the mirror. He growled at his reflection. “Back up! It isn’t time!”

                        The Beast growled back, filling his mind with dark fantasies – some old, some new. He was breathing hard now, fighting against the Beast. He needed to keep it together a little longer. A mistake now could mean the end of the game. An end too soon.

                        A cry leaped from his throat, his hands gripping the side of his head, the pain intense. A scene played out behind his eyes where he grabbed the waitress, drug her back to the bathroom, and fed her to the Beast, bathing the small room with her blood. He shook it from his mind.

                        “Too soon. Too fast. No satisfaction,” he muttered, his eyes still closed. Another scene appeared and then another, memories this time of all the girls he’d had before. Each replay came faster than the one before until they overlapped, playing simultaneously over and over again. Edgar moaned, collapsing to the cold tiled floor.

                        When he came to himself, sometime later, he was curled up in the corner of the men’s room; hands over his ears, his knees digging into his eyes. His head jerked up. The rat sat comfortably on his shoulder, tiny whiskers tickling Edgar’s face, its beady little eyes staring at him. Edgar reeled back in surprise and disgust, forcing the creature off his body with a flick of his other hand.

                        “Get away!” He demanded, his voice sounding weak to his ears.

                        The rat turned tail and ran, skirting the wad of paper towels that now lay on the floor, ducking back into the hole in the wall.

                        A shudder of revulsion coursed through Edgar’s body. Pulling himself together, his eyes darting around the unfamiliar room, he tried to remember where he was and why he was on the floor. Slowly the memory returned.

                        Edgar staggered to his feet, relieved to find the Beast had abated. Unsure how long he’d been out, he quickly brought his appearance back to normal and left the bathroom. Nervous someone had seen him crashed out on the floor of the bathroom, he kept his eyes darting about him, looking for evidence that he’d been seen. To his relief, he found none.

                        As promised, Darla had his coffee on the table, waiting for him. It was still hot, steam hovering above the dark liquid. He couldn’t have been gone that long after all, he surmised. Relieved, he relaxed into the booth, sipping his coffee and, as always, assessing his surroundings.

                        The customers had changed in his absence. The man and his two children were gone, replaced by a woman who was slender and blonde from the back, he wondered what she looked like from the front. Young? Old? Voluptuous? Pretty? Plain? He wished to see her face but she remained with her back to him.

                        There were customers at three other booths, all on the other side of the room from him. All women. All blonde. Though he stretched this way and that, he couldn’t see any of their faces. It was very disappointing. There was nothing like a young, beautiful, blonde girl to make a man’s heart swell.

                        Darla sauntered up to his table, his salad in her hand. “Your meal will be out shortly,” she said, placing his salad in front of him.

                        “Thank you, Darling Darla,” he drawled in his fake accent. He gestured at the booths with the blondes and asked, “What’s with all the tow-heads? Family reunion?”

                        Darla paused to look at the women he spoke of before responding.

                        “You could say that,” she said with a nod. “A reunion of sorts, anyway. There’ll be more before it’s over.”

                        A feeling of unease rippled through Edgar. Casting another glance at the women, his eyes narrowed, his mind circling around an idea that he refused to contemplate. It was absurd. Yet the uneasiness remained.

                        “Anyway,” Darla flashed her smile again. “Enjoy your salad. The rest of your meal will be right out.”

                        Edgar hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he forked in the first bite of salad. Salivating, his taste buds seemed to do a little jig while his stomach growled in anticipation. Before he knew it, he was licking the last bits from his fork, wishing there was more. Regretfully, he set the empty salad bowl and fork aside. He sipped at his coffee. While it did taste good, it didn’t come close to the deliciousness of that salad.

                        As he sipped from his cup, his eyes meandered around the room. There were more blondes now, replacing all the other customers except for one man who sat alone at the counter, watching the television. Edgar’s eyes were drawn to the screen also. A reporter, her brown hair wiping around her face in the wind, stood on the edge of a park gesturing towards the wooded area next to her where yellow caution tape was strung amongst the trees. Several policemen loitered around the site as a black bag was loaded onto a gurney and wheeled to an ambulance. 

                          A chill slithered along Edgar’s spine; his stomach gave a flop. From his booth in the back, he was too far away to hear what the reporter was saying but he knew what she was talking about. This was a familiar spot. Edgar knew what, or more precisely who, was in that bag. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or excitement that was churning in his gut, but what he did know was that one of his girls had been found. He ran through his memories of that time and that place, retracing every step, every action, reassuring himself that he had left nothing behind. Nothing to tie him to the scene. Nothing to send the police on the path to his door. Nothing to let them know there were others. Satisfied, he returned his thoughts to the present, letting his eyes settle once more on the screen.

                        The reporter spoke for a few minutes more before being replaced with the anchor team, who held their grim expressions long enough to thank her for her report. Smiles appeared all around the anchor desk as they bantered with the weatherman over the weather to come. Edgar frowned. It didn’t seem right for them to spend so little time on his girl. Yes, he wanted to remain anonymous, keep his girls all to himself, but one had been found. There should be more reverence. It felt wrong to have these strangers be so flippant about one of his.

                        Lost in thought, Edgar didn’t notice the large black man approaching him until he was standing right in front of him. The man was at least six-three with a touch of gray in his curls, his face shaved smooth, and a white apron was tied around his waist. In his hand was a steaming plate of food. With a smile, he set the plate in front of Edgar who looked at him warily.

                        “Where’s Darla?” Edgar asked, all pretense of a southern accent gone. There was no one here to impress or charm into submission.

                        The man’s smile broadened. “She’s taking care of a group of customers at the moment. I hope you don’t mind me bringing your food to you. I didn’t want it to get cold.”

                        He continued to watch as Edgar sliced off a chunk of the breaded meat and ran it through the mashed potatoes and gravy before lifting it to his mouth.

                        “Did you need something?” Edgar asked, the fork hovering just below his mouth.

                        “I’m sorry,” the man said, “I should have introduced myself.” He patted his chest as he spoke. “I’m Hank. I do the cooking and manage the place. I want to be sure your meal is satisfactory before I return to the kitchen.”

                        Edgar popped the bite of food into his mouth. It was so delicious, he closed his eyes and gave a small moan of delight.

                        Hank chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear from my customers. Pure bliss. No one goes hungry at the Justice Café!”

                        When Edgar opened his eyes, the big man was gone. Presumably, having returned to the kitchen to crank out more meals as tantalizing as the one Edgar dined on. He lost himself in the act of eating.

                        Darla returned to his table as he was scraping up the last of the mashed potatoes from his plate. He couldn’t get over those dimples and all that blonde hair. He waited for the push in his chest from the Beast, but it didn’t come. The need seemed to be gone. Surprised and disappointed, he released the dream of making this a double special night.

                        “Was your meal okay?” Darla asked, a note of concern in her voice. “Ya’ll seem disappointed.”

                        Edgar managed a small smile. “Everything was great. I’d had plans is all. Not gonna happen now.”

                        “Oh. Perhaps something better will come along.” Darla interjected a bit of optimism. “Would you care for any dessert tonight?”

                        Edgar thought about it for a moment as Darla waited patiently for his decision.

                        “Hm, what would you suggest?”

                        “Well, that is a tough question. Hank is the best cook and baker ever to have stepped foot on this earth. Everything he makes is simply scrumptious! Tonight he made fruit pies, cream pies, three kinds of pudding and three cakes.”

                        “That’s a lot to choose from.” Edgar nibbled at his bottom lip as he contemplated his choices.

                        “Yes, it is. But his specialty is Banana Cream Pie,” Darla added, leaning forward conspiratorially.

                        Edgar looked up in surprise. “That’s my absolute favorite, but few people can make it right.”

                        “Oh, Hank makes the best. Would you like to try a slice?”

                        “I don’t know. I hate to pay for something I don’t enjoy.”

                        “I’ll tell you what,” Darla said, placing a hand on her hip, accentuating the curve of her body, “if it isn’t the best slice of pie you have ever had, I won’t charge you for it. Deal?”

                        Edgar’s eyes wandered along her body, a smile playing on his lips, before returning to her blue eyes. “That sounds like a deal.”

                        “Good! I’ll be right back.”

                        Edgar was watching the sway of Darla’s hips as she walked away when the bells above the diner door signaled new arrivals. Edgar’s eyes were drawn to the door. A large group of blondes in various heights huddled together just inside the door.

                        “Hey, ya’ll!” Darla greeted them. “Welcome to the party. Let me show you to your table.”

                        The group followed her to the far side of the room. Edgar caught the curve of a cheek here, the shape of a jaw there, but not once could he see the entire face of any of the girls. He watched as they slid into their seats, always blocking each other from Edgar’s view as if they knew he was watching.

                        A frown settled on his brow. All the tables and booths on the other side were now filled, yet not one face was clearly visible. A chill slithered along Edgar’s spine. It was a bit unnerving. There was something… wrong about all of this. Something jarringly familiar, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. If he could just get at look at one face, any face, he felt certain it would all fall into place.

                        With shaking hands, he picked up his mug. Coffee sloshed over the side of the cup as he brought it to his lips, splattering the table. Swearing under his breath, he wiped at the spill with his napkin. Luckily, it had missed his shirt. With great care, he brought the mug to his lips again. The warmth of the coffee brought him some measure of comfort. He held tight to the warm porcelain focused on quelling the tremors.

                        Darla arrived to slide a large slice of pie in front of him just as the door opened then closed again. She smiled over her shoulder at the new arrivals.

                        “I’ll be right with you,” she called to them.

                        Returning her attention to Edgar, she gestured at the piece of pie. “Go on. Take a bite. Honestly, it tastes like a slice of Heaven.”

                        Edgar had to admit it looked as good as she described. It was the tallest, creamiest yellow slice of Banana Cream Pie he had ever seen. It was topped with swirls of whipped cream and a fresh slice of banana as a garnish. His fork slid through it like a hot knife through butter, separating out a large chunk that he scooped into his mouth. The taste brought warmth to his chest and a smile to his lips. He felt euphoric, as if this moment, this place, was the most wonderful of his entire life. As if all the joys he’d ever yearned for, yet had never known, were gathered right here waiting for him. Tears filled his eyes. Embarrassed, he looked away from Darla, his bottom lip trembling.

                        “It’s okay. Take your time.” Darla patted his hand, her voice warm and comforting. “I’ll be back.”

                        Edgar didn’t notice when she walked away.

                        With each bite, his mind was filled with strange thoughts. Thoughts that brought lightness and joy to his heart, flowing through his mind in a way that seemed so real, like memories.

                        Memories. He latched on to that. But these weren’t his memories. All of his life he had struggled with sadness and pain. Only when he’d used that as a source to extinguish the life of a beautiful, unattainable, blonde girl did he feel anything close to joy. Yet, here he was, eyes closed, his mouth full of sweet creamy pie, and visions of another life ran through his mind.

                        It ran like a movie where each choice he made was the opposite of what had actually been. He felt joy as a child, cuddled in his mother’s arms. There was relief and a feeling of love when he allowed her to kiss away his tears. There he was as a teenager hanging out with friends, dating, laughing, watching movies, having fun … then he fell in love with Laura Swensen. The pert blonde girl of his dreams. And she loved him back.

                        Another bite of pie and his mind was whisking him through a whirlwind courtship, into a magnificent wedding, a joy-filled reception highlighted by his loving friends and family offering toasts of good cheer and happiness. A honeymoon followed. Ten blissful days and nights with the woman he loved.

                        Another bite. There were fights, making up, apologies, lovemaking…

                        Another bite. Three pregnancies, four children, birthday parties, Christmas joy, family outings. He watched as his children grew, married, had children and lives of their own.

                        Last bite … declarations of love. Fear of loss mingled with bittersweet joy of all that his life had brought him and what he was about to lose.

                        Then it was gone. One second he was overflowing with love and joy, the next, he was himself again: an empty vessel that he had filled with bitterness and hatred. The switch happened so quickly, his mind screamed with the loss.

                        Edgar sat trembling in the booth, tears drying on his cheeks. There was a hitch in his breathing and a pain in his chest where a sob pressed against his ribs trying to rise up through his throat to be heard. He swallowed it down, taking in quick, harsh breaths to keep it there. After a moment, his chest loosed. The tears that stained his cheeks were quickly rubbed away as Edgar came fully back to himself.

                        A rage filled him. Some kind of trick was being played on him, he was sure of it. They were all a part of it! The bubble-headed blonde waitress, the hulking cook, the cheap bottle blondes in their seats, always hiding their faces. All of them were in on it. His rage grew.

                        Angrily, he scrubbed the remnants of his tears from his face. He was done, he was out of here! It took a great effort to heave his body from the booth, somehow it felt so heavy, like the weight of the world was literally upon his shoulders. Upright, he lurched toward the register where Darla stood waiting for him.

                        Now the diner was filled with patrons. Table after table, booth after booth, was filled with blondes who snickered and giggled as he staggered past. Always they hid their faces from him, pressing close to each other in tight circles over the tables to keep him out. His anger continued to grow, but with it was a small kernel of something else, something very like fear.

                        At last, he passed the last table and shuffled up to the register. He leaned heavily against the counter unable to stand without its support, his knees on the verge of buckling. With hands that shook uncontrollably, he worked his wallet from his back pocket and dropped it onto the counter.

                        “How was your pie?” Darla asked quietly.

                        “I don’t know what your game is,” Edgar seethed, “but, I’m reporting you to the authorities. Drugs in the food. Obvious prostitution… they’ll shut you down.”

                        “Drugs? Prostitution?” Darla asked. “Whatever are you going on about Edgar?”

                        At the sound of his name, Edgar froze. He hadn’t told her his name. Never did he offer his name.

                        “How do you know my name?” It came out barely above a whisper, not the deep demand he had intended.

                        “Of course I know your name, Edgar,” the waitress said softly. “We all do.”

                        Fear rippled through his gut.

                        “I know you put something in that pie to make me see things that never happened,” he sneered, leaning in close to her face, driving more anger into his voice to quell the rising fear. “I’ll see you pay for it!”

                        Darla stood unmoving against his intimidation. Instead, she leaned closer to him to be sure he could hear her though she kept her voice low and gentle.

                        “Oh, Edgar,” Darla sighed, pity in her eyes and her voice. “Have you no remorse?”

                        “I’m not the one who brought these – these whores in here,” he raged, gesturing at the tables.

                        Several giggles rang out from behind him, raising the hairs on his neck.

                        “You can’t treat me this way!” Edgar bellowed. “Who do you think you are?”

                        Edgar snatched the bills from his bi-fold. Without bothering to count them, he slammed them onto the counter. Darla watched him, the same look of pity on her face. Visibly shaking with anger and fear, he forced his wallet into his back pocket and pushed away from the counter.

                        Desperately, he searched the tables again, a last-ditch effort to catch a look at someone’s – anyone’s – face. To prove to himself that the irrational thoughts swirling in his mind, were simply that – irrational. Still, the faces remained hidden from him. The fear grew into a swelling fire in his gut. Edgar clenched his fists and tightened his jaw against the rising panic, trying to replace it with his anger.

                        “To Hell with all of you!” He yelled, lurching towards the Exit.

                        More giggles met his outburst.

                        Someone beat him to the door. Her shapely backside, cascade of blonde hair, and small stature seemed familiar to him. How she’d gotten there so quickly, he couldn’t say, but there she was. His steps faltered. An eerie silence fell over the room. Then the lock snicked into place. Edgar stopped in his tracks.

                        All around him, he could hear the scraping of chair legs as the blondes rose to their feet. Edgar trembled. Behind him came movement, a kind of shuffling towards him as if the muscles and tendons of their legs were too tight to move the feet properly. At the same time, the girl in front of him began to turn towards him. Before, he had wanted to see her face, had been desperate to see it, but now he was terrified of what he would see when she finished her spin.

                        The girl turned slowly – as if the world itself was stuck in slow motion. For a brief moment, Edgar caught sight of her beauty: creamy skin with a sprinkle of pale freckles, eyes as blue as a summer sky, hair the color of corn silk flowed down her back, a perfect Cupid’s bow beneath a pert little nose. Then she finished her spin. The beauty was gone, replaced by a disfigured doppelganger. The skin now ashen and splattered with blood. The area around her eyes was swollen, deep cuts splaying the skin, her right eye socket gaping empty. Her flowing corn-silk hair was a mass of bloodied strings that hung like dried straw stuck with mud and blood that plastered it to her broken skull. Shards of bone shone in her hair as did gray matter that had no place outside of her skull. Her pert nose, replaced by a crooked, bulbous mass sat above her split lips; swollen and purple, caked with fresh soil, and broken teeth.

                        To Edgar’s horror, she raised her hands towards him, shuffling forward on stiff legs, whispering through her broken mouth, “Edgar. Don’t you recognize me?”

                        Edgar took a step back. Of course he recognized her. He’d just left her in a shallow grave near a rest stop twenty miles back.

                        “Edgar,” she whispered again, blood spraying from her mouth as she spoke, coating her chin, dripping onto her sweater, and leaving speckles of it on the floor at her feet. “Don’t you want to kiss me? You told me I was special.”

                        “I was speciallll…” Echoed the women who flanked him.

                        A shudder shook his body. If these were indeed his “special ladies,” and he was quite certain they were, then there were over a hundred of them surrounding him. His blood ran cold.

                        “Darla,” he whispered, his eyes concentrating on the square of linoleum in front of him, dreading the moment he would see the muddy tip of the tennis shoe the bloodied corpse before him was wearing, shuffle into view. “Darla, please help me.”

                        “Oh, Edgar,” Darla said, her voice remorseful. “Hank and I tried to help you.”

                        “The pie…” Edgar said quietly, the memories of his not-life tickled the edges of his mind.

                        “Yes, Edgar, the pie.” Hank spoke up, his voice filled with kindness. Edgar felt the large man’s hand on his shoulder. “Your last shot at redemption. All you needed to do was feel remorse for what you’ve done with your life. Remorse for what you did to each of these women. They need to hear you apologize for what you’ve done to them.”

                        “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Edgar’s voice cracked as tears rolled down his cheeks. Fear was in his voice as he spoke and flopped in his stomach like a landed fish. He knew what they wanted from him. They wanted him to look at their bloodied faces and beg for his life, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the floor. This was unfair, trapping him this way. It wasn’t his fault he was at the mercy of the Beast within. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t control it. Besides, they had tempted him, taunted him, even goaded him into doing the things he had done. If even one had loved him, cared for him, wanted to be with him and him only, it wouldn’t have happened. He could have been free of the Beast if only someone had loved him. What he had done, was their fault not his. This was all their doing!

                        “I wish what you said was true, Edgar,” Hank said sadly, removing his hand from the man’s shoulder. “But, you aren’t sorry for what you’ve done. You’re sorry that now you face your own Reckoning for what you’ve done. That isn’t the same thing.”

                        From out of the corner of his eye, Edgar saw what looked like a dark, swirling cloud forming along the wall to his right. It continued to grow until it reached from floor to ceiling, blocking out the entire wall and sucking the light from that side of the room. Disturbing sounds emanated from the darkness. Edgar’s head shot up, jerking in that direction, his eyes open so wide the whites were prevalent; his mouth gaped.

                        Writhing figures could be seen in the mass, mouths contorted with screams of fear and agony. Edgar’s body shook uncontrollably. He’d seen this once before, a very long time ago. A nightmare vision that had haunted him for weeks after his first kill. An omen of his coming doom, though he hadn’t let it deter him from his pleasure, the killing of those he saw as deserving of his wrath. Now it was back to claim him.

                        “Please,” he whispered to the remains of his victims as they scuttled closer. “Please don’t let it take me.”

                        But it was too late, his pleas fell on deaf ears. The hoard of dead women fell upon him, their cold hands forcing him toward the screeching mass. Screaming in blind terror, Edgar thrashed against the unyielding flesh of the dead, struggling to be free. But they held him tight. The swirling, shrieking mass crept closer. . Edgar screamed, flailing harder against the bodies that held him, trying to dislodge the rats before they reached his face. He was still screaming when the swirling darkness gathered him into its grip, drawing him into the whirlwind, mingling his voice with the cacophony of those who’d come before.

                        As the deep shadow dissipated, taking Edgar and his shrieks with it, one hundred and thirty beautiful, blonde women stood together in the Café.

                        “Thank you,” they said as one. Each produced a dazzling smile before stepping together into a column of pure, loving light and fading from sight.

                        “Justice is always served at the Justice Café,” Hank said softly, his arm draped over Darla’s shoulders, as the two watched them all disappear.

* * *

                        “This is Rita Vasquez outside the home of one Edgar Blaren with breaking news on the cold case of Missy Goath whose body was found yesterday in a shallow grave near the Aspen Heights Park. An anonymous call, late last night, led police to a roadside rest off Interstate 80 just outside of Wendover, Utah. There they found the remains of Anita Shelton and the body of truck driver Edgar Blaren. Evidence found inside the cab of Mr. Blaren’s truck has led Police here, to his home, where they believe more evidence will be uncovered. When they find it, we’ll be here to report it. This is Rita Vasquez reporting live. Back to you, Ted.”