“Nice to meet you, Miss D’Angelo, I’m Tara. Please, take a seat and I’ll get the forms for you. Can I offer you a cup of coffee or tea while you wait?”
“Coffee would be lovely, thank you,” I answer.Gotcha.
Taking two steps towards a chair, I watch as Tara walks away from her desk, going into the hallway. Once she’s out of sight, I slip over to her desk, depositing the contents of the syringe into her steaming cup. Tucking it into my pocket, I briefly stop at the window, giving Trey the signal that the dose has been administered. Taking a seat in one of the horribly uncomfortable chairs, I rifle through a magazine, the picture of innocence.
Tara comes back a few minutes later, depositing the coffee and forms on the table next to me. She goes back to her desk, and I watch surreptitiously as I pretend to fill out the new patient intake forms, not touching the coffee. Even if I could use the boost, I’m not planning on leaving any more of my DNA behind than I have to. There’s already enough of it floating around out there.
Fifteen minutes later and she’s out. So I don’t forget them when we leave, I drop the forms on the floor by the door. Pulling it open, I signal Trey to join me. He flips the door sign toclosed, locks it, and hands me my mask and gloves.
Just as we start moving towards the hallway leading to the examination room and offices, Doctor Ortega steps out of a room, freezing when she sees us. Her eyes fly wide and she drops the files in her hand, scurrying back into the room she was just leaving. Trey sprints towards the door, slamming it open before she can lock it.
Running in after him, I see him take her phone away, canceling the call to 911. Ripping the back off he removes the battery and snaps the SIM card in half, tossing the lot into the garbage can sitting by the desk.
Ripping my mask off, I set it on the desk, turning to face the woman that helped perpetuate so many crimes against me and my sisters. With frizzy, straw-like brown hair, pale sallow skin, eyes set wide apart, and a wart on the side of her face, she’s the epitome of a cartoon witch made flesh.
“Rebecca, what—” she starts, gulping when Trey takes a menacing step towards her.
“Doctor Erin Ortega, you are accused of aiding and abetting known pedophiles and sex traffickers. Of sterilizing children. Of standing by while children give birth while doing nothing to help them. Of ignoring your oath to do no harm.”
Her hands begin shaking as my list goes on, her already pale face turning even whiter.
“You’re the Retribution Killer,” she whispers, terror streaking across her face as she backs up further.
“You are accused of greed, of ignoring the cries for help from innocent children. You are accused of apathy and indifference. And you are accused of being a disgusting excuse for a human being. How do you plead?”
Doctor Ortega doesn’t answer. Just stands there, shaking, her eyes gone dim. She’s in shock. She follows docilely as Trey takes her by the arm, dragging her out of her office and into the examination room. She stays still as he tears her clothes off her, one lonely tear streaking down her face as her chin wobbles.
She doesn’t even protest when he guides her into the exam chair, reclining it and setting her feet into the stirrups, spreading her open. Nor when he straps her wrists to the metal bars with zip ties.
Just like I was when I was thirteen, terrified and alone, screaming through the pangs of childbirth.
My plan for the good doctor took the most effort than any of the others. Trey’s religious faith actually gave me the idea with a nearly forgotten childhood memory of a story learned in Sunday school—Judas and his thirty pieces of silver.
While Trey has been busy stripping and securing the doctor, I’ve been setting up the Bunsen burner. Trey had told me that you can get anything online and he wasn’t joking. He paid out a pretty penny for the burner, silver, and iron pot, but it was worth it.
Doctor Ortega wanted to sell out children for money? Now she’ll have it.
Trey takes over for me, setting the iron pot over the blue flame. Pouring the silver into it, he watches as the pieces heat and melt. I add my tagline to her forehead, and tag the walls, leaving the tablet of evidence on the counter for the police to find.
Pages upon pages of payments from Tony and Dolores.
Taking the final item from the backpack, I walk towards the doctor, who is mumbling under her breath.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry …”
“A bit too late for that, I’m afraid,” I tell her, patting her head. “You know how people say, ‘it will be the death of you’? Well, you wanted money more than anything else. Now you’ll have it.” Leaning over her, I place the medical gag device into her mouth, spreading it wide open. A long, low wail comes gurgling out of her, tears streaming down her face.
Trey pulls on thick silicone oven gloves, lifting the pot. Careful not to spill any, he pours the molten silver down her throat as I hold her head still. The cloudiness quickly leaves her eyes as horror fills them, her hands slapping against the restraints in panic. It doesn’t take long. I couldn’t think of a more fitting death for Erin Ortega.
A mixture of contradictory feelings rush through me. Elation that my quest is completed. Sorrow for all the babies, for all the pain my sisters suffered. Grief for my children. Anger that this is happening all over the world.
I thought that my overriding feeling would be joy—that I would want to celebrate my victory in defeating the monsters that caused me and the others so much agony.
But once that rush of feelings subsides, I’m left feeling a little hollow. What am I supposed to do with my life now? Just marry Trey, and live happily ever after? Does that exist for people like us? People that are damaged by their pasts—abused, tortured, broken. Do we now get to live in peace, and finally,finallyget love?
Strong arms wrap around me, and I’m cradled into Trey’s chest. How does he always know what I need? I let the tears flow, wrinkling his shirt when I fist the material.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I hiccup and back away from him. “I’m feeling a little—”
