Chapter Fourteen
Evangeline
L URING REGGIE WHITE to the location of our reunion was relatively straight forward. From my research, I knew he ordered girls from a service called Private Encounters once every month or two. He was not at all particular about the type of girl he was provided with, as long as she was as young as possible. I’d been monitoring Private Encounters’ server for weeks, so all I had to do was wait for Reggie to place an order, head his scheduled ‘date’ off at the pass, and go to his hotel in her place. Reggie used an “anonymous” user account to place the order, but that account was connected to his credit card, making him easy to track. I took care of the actual girl Reggie ordered with a single phone call.
“Hello?”
“Am I speaking with Mia Rose Harris?” I asked, using my best authoritative voice.
“Who is this? How do you know that name?”
“Miss Harris. My name is Special Agent Margaret Denning of the FBI. Please don’t hang up, I have some very important information to give you.”
“Wh...what kind of information. What do you want?” she asked, already sounding sufficiently panicked.
“I know that you’ve been working for Private Encounters for the past nine months under the name Ruby, and that you’re only sixteen years old.”
“You need to talk to m...my l...lawyer.”
“Mia, we both know you don’t have a lawyer. And even if you did, I’m not with the police. I work for the United States government and under the Patriot Act, have the authority to detain you for violating sex trafficking laws at both the state and federal level. But I don’t want to do that.”
“Then, what do you want?”
“I’m calling to warn you,” I replied.
“Warn me about what?”
“An FBI taskforce will be moving in on Private Encounters early tomorrow morning. We will be seizing not only all business-related equipment, money, weapons, and narcotics found within the various locations owned by Private Encounters, but we will also be arresting all known employees and associates.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because I don’t want you to be among those who are arrested. You and the other girls are too young to have your life ruined by these people.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because it’s my job to care. And believe it or not, I’ve been exactly where you are.”
“If that’s true then you know I can’t leave. I don’t have any money or a car, or anything.”
“You have a phone and that’s all you need,” I replied. “I’m texting you a number right now. As soon as we hang up, I want you to call that number and ask for Emory. She works for an organization called Papillion House, and she’ll help you, and as many other girls as you can take along with you. I promise nothing bad will happen to any of you.”
“I’m so scared,” she said, clearly crying.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Call that number and Emory will send a van and some men who will get you out safe. They’ll plan the whole thing out. Okay?”
“Okay,” she squeaked.
“Good girl. Okay, I’m going to hang up now. You call Emory as soon as I do, and if you need me, you can call me back on this number. Alright?”
Earlier, Mouse and I had arranged for an extraction team to be assembled here in Detroit and we had two vans standing by. Hopefully Mia would summon the courage to leave and take others with her, but I knew the incredible amount of strength that would take. Of course, there was no FBI task force ready to bust down the doors of Private Encounters, but I needed her to believe there was in order to save her life. I was going to take “Ruby’s” place tonight, and once the police found Reggie’s body, they’d go looking for her. I couldn’t risk her potentially taking the fall for his murder. I wanted her well out of the way and gone for good. Hopefully Mia was more afraid of the FBI than her captors and pimps.
I arrived at the scheduled meeting place for Reggie’s date, the illustrious Western Bed Motel by the airport, an hour early. I needed some time to set up, plus I wanted to make sure I’d have time to deal with “Ruby,” should she decide against Special Agent Denning’s offer and show up after all.
I arrived at the motel in disguise, so as not to be identifiable in any security camera footage. My guess was at least half the cameras were busted anyway as was to be expected in a fleabag motel such as the Western Bed. As soon as I entered the room, I removed the wig, hat, and glasses, donned the boiler suit I’d brought in my bag, along with rubber gloves and booties for over my shoes. My hair was already tied back tight and under a cap. It was critical that I leave no trace of DNA evidence, especially with me working so close to where I’m originally from. There was a secondary reason for my elaborate get up and that was to conceal any and every part of my identity until I was ready to do so. I didn’t even want Reggie to know if I was a man or a woman. Of course, the crown jewel of my disguise was my mask. And just like Reggie, I spared no expense when it came to having it crafted just for the occasion.
My plan was to hit Reggie in the neck with a shot of my Nightfall concoction as soon as he walked through the door, giving me just enough time to guide him to the bathroom, where our meeting was to take place. Once I was fully suited and masked up, I hid behind the door, syringe in hand, waiting in the darkness. The roar of nearby planes taking off and landing provided the perfect eerie soundscape, and my heart thumped loudly inside my chest as adrenaline began to course through my veins. I stood in that position for what felt like an eternity until finally I heard the beep of the key card reader, followed by the squeak of the hotel room door opening slowly.
I stayed perfectly still, holding my breath, waiting for him to step into the room and within the range of my needle.
“What the fuck?” he growled, still standing in the doorway. “I said that bitch better already be on the bed when I get here.” His voice was muffled, sounding like he was already wearing a mask.
I was afraid he might leave, but after a few tense moments he finally entered the room, letting the door close behind him. As soon as it did, I moved in on him, syringe in hand, but he saw me coming and turned to face me. Having lost the element of surprise I threw my body weight at him, checking him with my shoulder as hard as I could, sending us both onto the bed.
We landed, face to mask, and Reggie quickly wrapped both arms around me, preventing me from sticking him. Unable to do anything else, I reared back and headbutted him as hard as possible, aiming as best I could for the bridge of his nose. The impact of the hit was so hard, I saw stars and nearly passed out, but Reggie loosened his grip just long enough for me to jab him in the thigh.
Seconds after I pressed the plunder down, Reggie started going night, night, so I quickly got him up to his feet and marched him towards the bathroom. Blood poured from underneath his mask, leaving a crimson trail along the matted motel carpet. For a moment I felt a little sorry for whoever was going to have to clean up this crime scene, but then I figured I was providing job security to those who do that sort of work for a living.
“That’s it, left foot, right foot,” I said, encouraging Reggie all the way to the bathroom and into the tub.
“Are we taking a bath?” Reggie slurred as he climbed inside.
“I’m going to give you a very special bath, all your own when you wake up.”
“When...I...wake...” Reggie’s words trailed off and he fell into a deep sleep.
It took me a while to find the right balance of drugs for the perfect ‘Nightfall’ recipe. I even had to dose myself a couple of time to better understand the drugs’ effects. I needed a concoction that would make my subjects highly suggestable and amiable after the early stage of introducing the drug, and then rendered unconscious for a controlled amount of time. Of course, body mass and a few other factors play into how much Nightfall needs to be administered, but it’s not like I’m gonna be sued for malpractice if I get the dose a little wrong from time to time.
Now that he was out cold, I got my first good look at Reggie’s newest mask, a disturbingly realistic, maggot infested, rotting, pig’s head. A truly disgusting work of art. Of course, I couldn’t find fault with the mask maker. How could they ever know how this sick maniac intended to use what they’d made for him? Nor could the person who made mine. Of course, I wouldn’t know just how well my mask would work until Reggie saw me in it. But first it was time to unmask the man who’d terrorized me for so long.
I took a deep breath and undid the leather straps that secured the mask to his face before sliding it off, finally revealing the face of Reginald White. A wave of terror washing over me as I looked into his unassuming, wholly unremarkable face.
In my research, I’ve found that an alarmingly large number of women believe wholeheartedly that they would know a sexual predator if they encountered one. That their intuition would sound off some sort of internal alarm bell. That they are excellent judges of who they can trust with their children. If you could take one look at the face of Reggie White, you’d know what I know. Successful predators blend in with society, they don’t often stick out. They can be your sweet, quiet, neighbor. Or that nice young man who sits next to you at church. In fact, most serial sex offenders tend to be quite religious. They might even see their abuse as passing God’s judgement on his victims. The soft, doughy, plain ol’ face of Reginald White would stick out like a sore thumb in many police lineups, but I knew the truth. I knew the true nature of this man, and today a face from his past would pass judgement on him. Then, she would sentence him.
“My... head. My head hurts,” Reggie said, starting to regain consciousness.
“Don’t worry about that,” I said, from behind my mask. I’d gotten into character while Reggie was having his last temporary nap and was sitting on the toilet, facing him.
I’d stripped him bare and bound his hands and feet with cable ties and duct tape, which I then fastened to the shower handle above the molded soap dish.
I never used exotic tools or products of any kind when working on a project. I tried to leave as little trace of myself as possible and only involve other people when absolutely necessary in this case, that meant hiring an artist to make me a custom mask. Although I’d worn plenty of disguises, masks had never been a part of the equation until now. I wanted my subjects to know it was me who was hurting them. That I, myself, was sealing their doom.
Tonight, however. That honor would go to someone else.
Reginald began to squirm and wriggle around in the tub. “Wha...What the fuck is going on here?”
“Shhhhh,” I whispered, holding a finger to my masked lips.
Reginald focused on me for the first time and his eyes grew wide. “What the fuck is this? Who are you?”
I answered his question with a stun gun to the ribs. Reginald writhed in clench jawed agony.
“Talk again without permission, and it’ll be your balls,” I warned. “Now, look at me.”
Reginald turned his face towards me. Dried blood was caked down his face and chest. His nose, clearly broken, had swollen to twice its normal size. Tears streamed down his face.
“No,” he hissed.
“You know exactly who I am,” I said. “Say my name.”
“That’s impossible. She’s dead. You’re just wearing a—”
I hit him with 30,000 volts directly to his nuts, causing him to convulse and piss himself.
Once I was sure he could think clearly again, I asked again, “Who am I?”
“Jessica,” he said through sobs.
I nodded. “That’s right, Reggie, it’s your sister, Jessica.”
“Why are you doing this to me? Why are you dressed like her?”
I moved in to stun him again, and he began to beg.
“Okay, okay, you’re Jessica. Please don’t hurt me anymore.”
“Did I ever beg you to stop?” I asked.
Reggie’s eyes widened more.
“Do you remember?” I continued. “Did I ever beg for you to stop when you were raping me?”
“I never...I loved her...I loved you,” Reginald blubbered through blood and snot.
Once I’d found his identity, research on Reginal White proved quite productive in the most horrible of ways. Through my sleuthing I found juvenile criminal court records (all officially sealed, of course) of a young Reginald David White. According to police and court records, at the age of twelve Reggie developed an obsessive fascination with his fourteen-year-old sister, Jessica. There were many spying incidents and even two molestation attempts before Reggie’s parents enrolled him in a boarding school in upstate New York. However, the night before he was set to go off to school, he attacked and raped his sister. Even though he was two years younger than Jessica, Reggie was already five inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than her and was able to overpower her while she was sleeping.
The next morning, when Jessica didn’t show up for breakfast, Mrs. White went to her room to find Jessica naked and wrapped only in a sheet. Blood was smeared between her legs and had clearly been sexually assaulted. She was curled up in the fetal position and completely catatonic.
The Whites immediately called the police and Reggie was taken into custody but refused to admit to anything. He claimed he was asleep in his bed the whole night, trying to, “Get a good night’s sleep before being shipped off to the death camp in the morning.”
After months of intense psychotherapy, Jessica finally began to talk, and had even began to show interest in returning to high school soon. Until one day Mrs. White came home from work to find Jessica’s lifeless body hanging from the chandelier in her room.
Reggie was eventually released due to a lack of evidence. No prints were found on Jessica’s body, and no semen was recovered. At the end of the day, the District Attorney simply didn’t have enough evidence against Reggie to build a case against him, but I did.
I had the mask made in Jessica’s image using photos from the police files and her social media tribute page as references. Tonight, Jessica was going to see justice done, even if it had to be through my eyes.
“You raped me, Reggie,” I said.
“I loved you.”
“You killed me.”
“No, no. That’s not true. You killed yourself before you could see the truth.”
“The truth? The truth is that you should have gone to prison for what you did to me. You should have been executed for your crimes.”
“Part of me died when you did,” he cried.
“ All of me died when you raped me.”
“Please forgive me. I swear to God, I never wanted to hurt you. I loved you.”
“God didn’t stop you from raping me, why should he spare you from your judgement?”
“You have to admit that we had a connection,” he breathed out. “You were so pretty, and you smelled so good. Mama said I wasn’t supposed to touch you, but I couldn’t help it.”
“You should have listened to Mama,” I growled.
“Somebody help me, ple—” was all Reggie got out before I tazed him in the middle of his chest. While subdued, I placed a ball gag in his mouth and secured the straps around his head.
“As much as I was enjoying it, I’m afraid our conversation is over,” I said sweetly. “Now, you’re going to know what it’s like to be a victim. You’re going to find out how it feels to be in one of those horror movies you love so much. That’s why I put you in the tub.”
Reggie continued to wriggle and moan, but that was all he could do. He belonged to the avenging ghost of Jessica White now.
The hours to come would see me do some of my finest work, and I had to give credit where credit was due. Every punishment dolled out that night was based on the horror movies that Reggie had forced me to watch.
Wrapping Reggie’s head in barbed wire and rolling over it with a rolling pin was straight out of Killer in the Kitchen. Shaving his nipples off was obviously taken from Clown Camp II. And then, there were the stabbings. I must have stuck that sick sonofabitch with a dozen different implements all over his body. From butcher’s knives to corkscrews. If it showed up in a movie, I stuck it somewhere. The tub was almost half full of blood before he started passing out.
“No way. You’re not getting off that easy,” I said, shoving smelling salts under his shattered nose to revive him just before slicing his right ear off with a straight razor. Of course, his cries of pain were a lot more muffled after cutting his tongue out. I had to remove the ball gag every once in a while, so he wouldn’t choke to death on his own blood, but it was worth the effort to recreate that famous scene in an Eye for a Tongue.
And so, it went until we reached the finale of our theater of the grotesque. Reginald White had been sliced and diced on for around two hours straight and was now at the point of bleeding to death. Of course, after all that, I wasn’t about to let him die peacefully.
“I saved the best for last, dear brother,” I said, reaching into my bag. “I know your favorite movie of all time is Chainsaw Cheerleader Party so what do you say? Shall we get this party started?” I pulled the rip cord on the portable trimming saw and it fired right up.
“I’m sorry it’s not a full-sized model, like in the movie, but those are way too bulky and loud,” I said.
Reggie hardly had any fight left in him at that point. In fact, he barely moved at all when I took his right arm off.