PART II: Chapter 1
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03/16/01 Friday 2:30 A.M.
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Sandi, Tiffany, and Stacy were sitting on Quinn’s bed,
helping her with her new ponytail. It was the latest fashion, she had just seen
it in Waif and it looked really hot. Edgy, even. The top of her ponytail
had been divided into three smaller parts, and right now each member of the
Fashion Club was braiding a section.
Quinn was excited, and imagined how others would look on
her change with new envy. Then again, a small part of her worried about being
laughed at for being too edgy. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she
asked again.
“Quinn,” said Sandi, “trust me. Would I lead you astray?
... Oops. Oh, I’m like soooo sorry, Quinn.”
Quinn’s eyes widened and she gasped in horror as she saw
the little braided hair in Sandi’s hand. It had come off her head into Sandi’s
hand!
“Oh, no!” shrieked Stacy, “it happened to me, too! Can you
ever forgive me, Quinn?” Stacy was also holding a little pony tail.
“Me, toooooo,” moaned Tiffany, also holding one.
“MY HAIR!” shrieked Quinn jumping up. “How could you rip
my hair off, you BITCHES!”
Sobbing in grief, she got up and ran over to her three
mirrors to see how bad the damage was.
In the reflection, she saw Matthew holding a gun right at
the back of her head.
All her mirrors shattered into shards as Quinn fell
screaming, the loud report echoing in her small room.
The Fashion Club was gone. Only Matthew was here with her
now.
Quinn was instantly running out of her room, but he shot
at her again before she got out.
While she moved at an impossible speed, she noticed that
the hallway outside was incredibly long, and she heard Matthew chasing her. She
had to hide, had to get help -- but everyone was gone. Matthew shot at her
again and again and then she was at Daria’s room, just as a bullet lodged in
the door in front of her.
Twisting the knob, she dove in and slammed the door shut.
The doorknob started twisting and Quinn grabbed it. The doorknob kept turning,
and she couldn’t keep him out. He was too strong and Quinn was already tiring.
“DARIA!” shrieked Quinn in utter terror, “DARIA, PLEASE!”
Daria couldn’t come because she was in jail. She
remembered that now. Everyone else had abandoned her. But Daria hadn’t
abandoned her and now she was in jail because of it. Saving Quinn had been a
crime. And now there was no one left to save her.
Then Quinn saw Daria’s gun on the bed. She knew she
couldn’t keep Matthew out much longer, so she jumped for it. She grabbed it and
turned, pointing it at Matthew who had just burst in. She pulled the trigger.
And nothing happened.
She tried to get the damn gun to work as Matthew quickly
closed the distance, but it was only an inert piece of metal. She’d do better
to just throw it at him!
Then she saw fire and smoke as Matthew’s gun went off only
inches from her face. She fell, twisting and the gun shots kept coming as she
tried in futility to get out of the way.
Quinn came to, twisting in her blankets, screaming.
Slowly, Quinn became aware that she was in her bed in her
dark room, her sheets and blanket wrapped around her. Her heart pounded as she
lay frozen, unable to breathe or move.
Matthew’s right outside! I have to hide, I have to hide!,
thought Quinn in her frozen panic. No, said a calmer part of her mind, he’s
dead. Unfortunately, the calmer part of her mind was having a hard time
convincing the panicking part.
She realized her stuffed dino had fallen to the floor and
she started to force herself to move to grab it when she wondered, What if
Matthew is under the bed?
Quinn screamed, “AAAAAAAAGGHHH!!!” as she sat upright
suddenly because the door to her bedroom opened and Quinn saw Matthew coming
into her room.
The light came on. It was her mom in her night clothes.
“Quinn, what’s wrong?” asked Helen. “Did you have another
nightmare?”
“Yes,” said Quinn in a tearful voice, before she started
crying in earnest.
“Oh, honey,” said her mom, coming to her bed. “Matthew
can’t hurt you anymore. He’s dead.”
Helen felt shame at the vicious satisfaction at knowing
that and even wishing it had been HER pulling the trigger of the gun that
killed him instead of Daria's. And the fantasy didn’t come only from the desire
to spare Daria prison by going in her place. But she didn’t give any clue to
this dark, protective feeling that had become the primary focus of her life
since all this madness started. She just comforted Quinn who was crying in her
arms.
“Would you like to sleep with me?” asked Helen. Quinn was
way too old, but Quinn needed her sleep. If it kept the nightmares away, she
was willing to indulge Quinn a night or two. Though she might make Jake sleep
on the couch.
“No,” breathed out Quinn. “I’m fine.” Quinn broke the
embrace. “I just wish these nightmares would stop, Mom. He’s always
there, him and his damn gun, every time I close my eyes!”
“Well, try to get some sleep, honey,” her mom told her
soothingly. “You know we’re right here. You’re safe.” Helen bit her lip as she said
that, knowing that, although Matthew was dead, Quinn was now being targeted by
people with no devotion to law or justice.
And she wondered how she could afford therapy for Quinn
when the legal fees were already promising to bankrupt her.
“Okay,” said Quinn, again sounding as if she were 12
instead of 16.
Helen kissed her on the forehead and left. Quinn got up
and went to the bathroom, washing all the tears from her eyes. Then, still
afraid, she went back to bed. She left the lamp on her dresser drawer on this
time.
Quinn lay there, her stuffed dino in her arms, thinking
about the dream. Why didn’t the gun ever work? She didn’t know because she
didn’t have any ideas of how guns really worked. She just saw on TV and at the
movies that you pointed them and fired. Just like she saw happen nearly three
days ago. That was it. But there must be something more, or the gun would work
in her dream. Right?
“Quinn,” said an alto voice.
Quinn tried sitting up to see who was in he room, but she
couldn’t move.
“Quinn,” said the soft, warm voice.
Quinn found she was very tired, but she could barely move
her mouth to speak. “What?” she croaked out lightly.
“Quinn,” said the comforting voice again, “you are not
alone.”
“Who?” She meant to say who are you, but her mouth failed
her. It didn’t matter, the voice understood.
“I’m...” the name was such that Quinn couldn’t retain it
in memory. “I’m your guardian angel.”
Quinn felt excitement rush through her. Of course! Her
guardian angel!
“You... saved me... the chandelier....” said Quinn in a
light voice. If her mom was listening outside with her ear pressed to the door,
she would assume Quinn was only grunting in her sleep.
“Yes, Quinn, I saved you when your dad let that chandelier
fall on your head.” The voice sounded oddly amused, but also very comforting.
“And kept you from getting sick from the bad salad dressing, too. Remember?”
“Why.... where were you....” Quinn meant about to ask
about
“The party, Quinn?” said the angel, sounding regretful.
“I’m sorry about that. I was saving myself for when you needed me the most.
That time is now. I’m with you, Quinn, and you don’t have to be scared of
Matthew anymore.”
“Safe,” said Quinn, almost smiling. She could feel that
Matthew had fled from her angel.
“Yes, Quinn, I’m here to watch over you.”
“What’s.... name?”
The angel repeated it, but Quinn still couldn’t understand
it. Then the angel said, “You can call me Buffy.”
Quinn would’ve giggled, but she was too tired to do so.
“I’m glad you like it,” said the angel sounding pleased.
“Matthew’s.... gone?”
“Yes, Quinn. He’s in Hell now. I won’t let him hurt you
anymore.”
“Thank..... you,” Quinn breathed out, before falling into
the first peaceful sleep she had known since Matthew tried to kill her almost
three days ago.
2.
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03/16/01 Friday 10:30 A.M.
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Helen, dressed in her power suit, was driving Daria home
from court. The bond had been $200,000. Marguerite was to thank for that, as
she let Judge Oliver in on some of the facts that would be coming out of the
trial and the possibility of future prosecutions and media infamy. The shady
real estate deals he was involved in provided added leverage.
But that meant Helen was instantly out of $20,000. She
could cover that, but it didn’t leave much. She hoped the defense fund kept
piling up or she’d quickly go bankrupt.
Right now, Helen wanted to get Daria home and talk to her
privately before any of the defense team got there this afternoon. She was torn
between hugging Daria and slapping her. She wanted to tearfully thank her for
saving Quinn and castigate her for bringing such pain and stress to her life.
But right now she just tried being positive.
She also didn’t like that Daria was wearing the same
clothes she had been arrested in. They smelled.
Daria finally spoke up. “Have the paparazzi been following
you around this entire time?”
Helen smiled nervously. “Not too much, Daria. And it could’ve
been worse.”
Daria turned to Helen, curious. “What do you mean?”
Helen snorted. “Most of them are getting their big O’s at
the cabin owned by Matthew’s father, where Quinn went skiing with that Fashion
Club of hers. The police are showing off a bunch of guns and right-wing hate
literature.”
Daria’s brows raised a bit at the cynical tone in Helen’s
words. Finally, she asked, “Is National Review getting slammed again?”
Helen almost laughed at that, more from her frazzled state
than anything else. “No, Daria. Matthew’s father seems to be involved with some
white supremacists and neo-nazi groups, or at least he’s on their mailing
list.”
“Hmph,” said Daria thinking about that. “Then maybe
they’ll forget about me and go after him.” She turned her head to face the
front again.
“Not likely, Daria,” said Helen in a voice that revealed
dread. When Helen noticed Daria’s concerned face in her rear view, she added,
“We think there’s a good chance the media will connect you and Quinn to Matthew
trying to start a race war.”
Daria was stunned. “Sorry,” she said staring at Helen
again, “did I miss something?”
This time Helen did laugh, but without humor. Then she
sighed, “We’ll talk about it later. All I’ll say right now is that Fillman and
a few police officers are hoping to use this to enhance their own reputations
and destroy yours.”
“Oh.” Daria sounded both confused and afraid. Daria had
seen Fillman early this morning, and knew he was dangerous to her. She was sure
he didn’t see her as a person; to him she was just an opportunity, a means to
an end. He’d gut her, metaphorically speaking, the same way he’d gut a fish,
and with as much thought and care.
“Don’t worry,” said Helen, trying to comfort her. “The
truth will come out in court.”
Daria’s voice only betrayed a hint of her fear as she
said, “An investigation showed that 13 out of 25 people on death row were
innocent. How can I trust them not to convict me when I’m not even facing
death?”
“Daria, the court lets the guilty off as much as it punishes
the innocent! I mean, it doesn't always go one way.”
“Thanks, Mom,” replied Daria, “I feel so much better now.”
“Daria!” shouted Helen, “I am doing the best I can. I know
the courts aren’t perfect, but many of the people involved are doing the best
they can!”
After a beat, Daria asked, “Don’t they like fine people
for prostitution in courts?”
“What?” Helen never know what Daria was going to say next,
but she hadn’t expected that one. “Oh, the courts you mean? Yes. What’s that
have to do with anything?”
“I don’t think I trust pimps.”
“Daria! The courts are NOT pimps. The women are simply
fined for the debt they owe to society.”
“Oh. Like pimps do, only they call it a charge for all
their services. Do the tax-funded courts also charge for their services?”
“Daria, please!” Helen was getting really nervous. If
Daria were to present her twisted views to the court, she would fry. No one
wanted to be called a pimp. “Pimps buy Rolls Royces and jewelry for themselves,
the money the prostitutes have to pay goes to society.”
“Like?”
“Parks, swimming pools...”
“Damn. I’ll never be able to hide in another park, knowing
how it’s funded now. I just thought they robbed people and gave to themselves,
calling themselves society. Now that I know parks are actually from pimping,
it’s even worse.”
“Daria!” Helen tried reminding herself that Daria had a
lot of reason to feel hostile to the legal system now, but she was also,
peripherally, slandering Helen’s own profession, too.
“Do you even know how this charge to society is exactly
used, or are you just told how it’s used?”
Helen did NOT want to go there. “Just trust them, okay
Daria?”
“Me? Trust a bunch of pimps? Well, if my own mother says
to.”
Helen was getting a little fed up, but they were home now.
A few reporters were there already. Helen hoped Daria didn’t repeat this
conversation to the press. If she did, they’d paint her to the public as an
anarchist, or even worse, a libertarian.
“Here, Daria,” said Helen handing Daria the keys. “I want
you to go inside while I deal with this.”
Daria was all too glad to comply. She went inside with
cameras following her every move to the door, while Helen made a statement.
Daria was stunned to see the front room was a mess. There
wasn’t a lot scattered on the floor, but everything was out of place, as if it
had been hurriedly set out of the way. The floor obviously needed to be
vacuumed, among other things.
“Daria!” That was from Quinn, who joyfully ran to her,
adding to her sense of unreality. “I’m so glad you’re home!” She sounded like
she meant it, as she threw her arms around Daria.
Quinn wanted to make sure Daria stuck around to watch over
her, even if she did have Buffy to look out for her now. Quinn knew Buffy
couldn’t be there ALL the time.
“Uh, hi,” said Daria, not sure yet how to take this. She
finally returned the hug, but she really wanted to spend a month alone in a
cabin to think about everything that had happened.
Helen came in, pointedly closing the door behind her. She
smiled as she saw Daria and Quinn, but hid it before either one saw it.
Daria broke the embrace to turn to Helen. “What happened
to the house?”
“The police happened!” shouted Quinn, getting mad, placing
her hands on her hips. “They took my lappie, too!”
When Daria blinked at that, Helen said, “They tore the
house up looking for bombs and ammo.” She didn’t add that they were probably
hoping for narcotics, too. “They tore your room up pretty bad, Daria. They took
your computer, too, or at least most of it. I haven’t touched anything. I was
hoping you could clean it up and tell me if anything else is missing. Okay?”
The sense of unreality was being replaced by a sense of
violation. Without a word, she turned and practically stomped up the stairs.
When Daria saw her room, she was hit with anger, sadness,
confusion, fear, and pain. The barbarians had violated her sanctuary. The
sheets and blanket of her bedding lay on the floor with nearly everything else
from her closet and under her bed. She slammed her door shut and began putting
things in (relative) order.
Several minutes later (and a room that still looked like a
mess, but the one Daria was familiar with), she went to take a long shower and
get into clean clothes. Then she went down to the kitchen, where she heard
Helen and Quinn talking quietly. They stopped and looked at her when she came
in. There was a box at Helen’s feet, and some papers and files on the table.
Helen was drinking some ice tea, and Quinn had a soda. Daria got herself a soda
and sat down, too.
“Anything besides your computer missing?” asked Helen.
“Yes,” said Daria simply. After a pause, she clarified,
“My journal, and my ammo belt.” Daria worked to hide her sense of violation and
anger as she added, “Oh, and my
“
“I don’t suppose you can get my money back, can you?”
Daria seemed to already know the answer as she asked it.
Helen shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, Daria, but I don’t
think so. But I will see what I can do.” She looked at Daria harder, “but
please don’t use phrases like ‘
Daria rolled her eyes. Many people would think well of her
if she joined the BATF, but even a slight connection to a militia, or any group
that didn’t participate in the prevailing group think, was suspect. “Whatever,”
said Daria, “can you get my other stuff back?”
Helen definitely frowned as she heard what Daria told her.
She was glad that horrible faux ammo belt of hers had been taken, but she had
no idea what was in Daria’s journal. She was sure Daria must be upset, even if
she didn’t show any emotion at this time.
“I’m sure I can get your journal and computer back,” said
Helen. “I just hope there wasn’t anything they could use against you in it. You
didn’t write about this in your journal or computer at all, did you?” When
Daria shook her head, Helen continued, “Maybe there’s something in the files I
got from Marguerite last night.” Assuming they had even begun to look at the
journal, Helen thought contemptuously.
Helen kicked herself for not getting through it all yet
herself, but what could she do? She’d be glad when she finally assembled her
team and wasn’t just one person working alone anymore.
When Daria turned to Helen, Helen summed up last night’s
meeting with Marguerite. She knew Daria had a right to know and would want to
be let in on everything. She was smart and disciplined enough to handle it. She
hoped Quinn was, too; she sat silently listening to them talk. Helen knew she
was going to have to prepare Quinn for the police, so she let Quinn stay. It
would save time later.
Helen sorted through the box and didn’t find anything, but
she had a hard time seeing what everything was. She finally pulled several
files out at once to go through them on her lap. She was surprise when she
heard a thump. Looking down, her mouth dropped open as she saw a video tape
lying on the bottom of the box.
Forcing herself to stay calm, she took the tape out and
put it on the table where Daria and Quinn both stared at it in silence, knowing
what it was. Helen continued to look through the files until she found
something.
“Yes, Daria, there is stuff here.” She shared with them
photos the police had apparently taken of Daria’s room, focusing on her
skeletal theme items. Helen sighed, knowing she would have to block that
evidence from going to the jury. It wasn’t even circumstantial evidence, it was
only meant to assassinate Daria’s character, so she thought she had a good
chance at suppressing it.
Daria’s journal wasn’t there, but there were photocopies
of some pages. Most of it was just as superficial as the photos, but one entry
at the bottom of a page caught her eye:
“Anyway, the sun is setting, the moon is rising, and I can hear the lonesome sigh of the wind outside my window--no, wait, that’s Quinn’s blow dryer. The future is an enormous question mark, and I don’t know what lies ahead. I only know that if it moves, I’m shooting it. Daria.”
Helen
groaned. This wasn’t proof, but it was bad. She would make sure to block this
evidence from showing up. She let Daria see it when Daria looked a question at
her.
Daria just shrugged. What’s the big deal, she
wondered.
Then Helen asked about everything that happened in the
last three days and forced herself to listen calmly, despite her growing anger.
After Daria finished describing her experience among
Daria seemed shocked by that, but nodded her thanks to
Helen for sharing it with her. Helen was pleased to see Quinn was touched by
that, too, and had to resist the urge to reach out and stroke her hair again,
the way she had last night while talking to Andrew Landon on the phone.
Helen turned to Daria to see her staring thoughtfully at
the tape. “Yes, Daria,” said Helen, “I want to see what’s on this tape, too.”
She got up and took it into the living room, with Daria following right behind,
and Quinn slowly catching up.
The footage started off with the date showing 03-13-01
8:33 A.M. Jane walked up to the Crafts building and looked around. She went in,
and came out moments later with Daria. Then there was a cut, and then nearly
the same scene showed the next day at 8:29 A.M.
This time, footage followed Daria and Jane into the
hallways of Lawndale High. They hadn’t even gotten to their lockers when they
could see classmates running. DeMartino showed up yelling at students, but he
somehow looked scared himself, even if there wasn’t a clear image of his face.
He seemed to be herding students, and a few teachers, outside. Daria noticed
the nurse Jodie couldn’t find as one of the adults running out.
The footage then showed Jane starting to go with the crowd
coming near Mr. DeMartino, but Daria pulled her shirt up. She got something out
though it was not clear yet what it was. Jane came, with Mr. DeMartino
following, and she grabbed Daria’s arm. Daria shook off Jane’s hand and began
running. Jane stared, and then her own arm was grabbed by Mr. DeMartino. She
struggled as she was being dragged away, but her struggles seemed halfhearted.
The scene suddenly cut off.
The scene changed to Daria taking a stance, holding what
appeared to be a gun in a two-handed grip, and firing. There was no footage of
what she was firing at. A minute passed, and Daria unloaded her weapon and put
it down. Then she seemed to collapse on herself.
Quinn appeared and hugged her, and they huddled together
for the passing of about five minutes. Helen nearly broke down in tears,
watching her two daughters on the screen. Then Jane reappeared and reached
towards Daria but didn’t actually touch her. Another minute passed and Daria
turned to her. Then the two Morgendorffer sisters got up without losing
physical contact, and began to follow Jane off camera.
The scene changed, with the time going back a few minutes,
to a school hallway littered with books and papers. It was otherwise empty,
except for two people. Quinn was running, and Matthew quickly appeared behind
her.
Matthew stopped and pointed the gun in Quinn’s direction,
and a hint of fire seemed to be caught on film. Helen gasped involuntarily as
she saw Quinn suddenly fall, roll, and face Matthew who rapidly closed the
distance between them. She was on her hands and knees staring up into the gun
that Matthew now pointed down at her face, clearly visible, in a two-handed
grip, almost touching her, or so it looked on camera.
Then Matthew jerked three times in rapid succession. Fire
came from Matthew’s gun, but it had jerked up, missing Quinn by a wide margin.
Quinn pulled herself up a bit and seemed to be screaming.
Funny, Quinn thought, seeing this, I don’t
remember screaming.
Then Matthew pointed the gun at the ground, and fell to
his knees. Then he collapsed, seeming to be only inches from Quinn, who was
cringing away from him.
The tape went blank. All three Morgendorffers stared
silently at the blank screen for at least two minutes before Helen used the
remote to turn it off. She wondered when this footage would be released to the
news hounds, and how much of it would be shown on the air. She would look into
getting more footage of Matthew’s attack added into the evidence and news
footage both.
Especially, Helen thought, of how Matthew snuck
a gun into school. She was very curious about that, although she it would
be paranoid to think that the police had smuggled it in for him.
But she was now convinced that she would be able to clear
Daria of all charges, other than taking a gun to school and violating the Gun
Free Zones Act and Project Safe Neighborhoods. With all the other evidence
collected, the defense attorneys should be ecstatic for everything except the
federal trial.
The federal trial didn’t have a set date yet. Helen
desperately hoped that the BATF would choose not to press charges, but she knew
that was extremely unlikely. The BATF was as zealous as it was brutal, and
regularly played tricks so dirty that, she had heard, even other government
agencies were shocked.
Daria was clearly in violation of federal law. According
to that law she would spend several years in a federal prison cell. The
reputation of the BATF made no difference to that.
Helen was also wracked with guilt and confusion. Her view
of someone with a gun had been of people like Matthew, not Daria. Decent people
didn’t have guns. All a gun did was invite trouble, which was why Helen had
made Jake sell all his guns years ago. She sniffed; she still didn’t trust Jake
with a gun. She hadn’t changed her mind on gun control, she still believed it
was necessary; but she wished now it could be achieved in a better way, one
that didn’t hurt the innocent as much as, or even more than, the guilty.
Daria was locked in a psychic storm of distress and guilt
and anger that she wouldn’t show to the outside world at all. She had planned
for this since Matthew had shoved that gun of his in her face nearly two weeks
ago.
Every moment came back to her with crystal clarity. She
stared into that barrel, knowing that the extinction of all that she was could
happen at the jerk of a finger. And others had been threatened as well. The
only reason she hadn’t run when
But she had learned, with all her senses shocked into full
awareness, an important lesson that night as Matthew turned to stare at all the
guns aimed at him: The best way to fight fire is with fire.
She had gotten a gun the very next day, from a man whose
name she would never reveal. She owed him Quinn’s life, and possibly her own.
Who knew how many other lives? And to her utter amazement, he'd agreed to
extend credit to her, even though he would not be able to pursue the matter by
legal means if she chose to rip him off. She doubted he would resort to illegal
means of redress, either. He had trained her almost every day on how to use,
care for, and keep a gun. And he had helped her plan what she would do if she
needed to.
Then Matthew had shown up, yelling at Quinn. Daria had
called 911 while Jane went out to tell him what Daria was doing. He yelled out
loud at Jane and Daria both, though Daria couldn’t make out his words. Then
Quinn came on the phone and gasped that Matthew was after Jane.
Daria had hung up, gotten out her gun, and run to the
stairs, going down to the living room ready to empty her clip into Matthew.
There were no cameras here. Unless Quinn saw the entire shooting, then she
would say the gun had belonged to him.
But when she could clearly see the front room, Jane was
alone and the front door was open. Jane had yelled at her to hide the gun.
Daria had done so, slipping it into the pouch under her shirt, and was going to
the door when Quinn ran past her, crying. When she made it to the door, she had
seen Matthew’s car pulling away. So she had hidden her gun in her room again,
and gone downstairs to wait for the police.
After she learned of the restraining order, her dread
deepened, and she resolved never to be caught off guard by Matthew again. He
had done so twice, and she felt a superstitious dread at the phrase, “third
time’s a charm.” She would even take her gun to school until she felt that
Matthew was no longer a danger to them.
She and Jane had discussed how they would do it, but there
were so many things they hadn’t counted on, or had considered unimportant in their
inexperience. Not the least of which was this gnawing guilt that she had taken
a life with a squeeze of her finger. She was comforted by DeMartino’s message
that her mother had passed on to her, but only a little.
Such power, thought Daria, should not exist in
the hands of anyone. To take a life should not be so easy!
Meanwhile, Quinn felt growing anger and shame as she
thought about how Matthew had controlled her so much, and in the end, tried to
kill her, too. Maybe that was the ultimate domination? Someone else always had
to save her. Someone else was always in control. She thought she was the one in
control with silken gloves over an iron fist, but she now saw how everything
she did was in response to what someone else did. Quinn was not in control, she
was controlled.
On the footage, she looked like a baby cowering from
Matthew. She hoped that it never was played on the news. All she did was run,
cringe and cry. And that’s about all she had done since she came back. That
someone tried to kill her filled her with inexplicable shame.
Quinn resolved to grow up and learn to take care of
herself. She would get a gun just like Daria had as soon as she possibly could.
I wonder how much Daria will charge to help me get my
own gun?, Quinn mused. It’s going to have be a really chic gun, though,
one that can double as a fashion accessory, like on all those TV shows..
“Daria,” asked Helen suddenly, “where did you get your
gun?”
“I’m sorry,” said Daria, “but that information is
classified.”
“Daria!” Helen was in no mood for this. “If I’m to help
you, I need to know where you got the gun!”
Daria looked down for a minute, and then looked back up.
“I got it at a gun show in
Besides, she told herself, squirming, those gun
shows probably do sell to a lot of shady characters.
Helen crossed her arms and looked as if she wasn’t sure
she believed what Daria just told her.
Finally she said, “Fine, Daria, let’s at least get your
story straight.” And with that ambiguous statement, Daria made up details from
what she had learned of the show on the net.
She'd alone, borrowing the Lane car under false pretenses,
claiming a private medical exam in the same town as the gun show, hinting that
it had to do with an unexpected pregnancy. No, she didn't remember the dealer
well because she had paid more attention to the gun. No, she couldn't describe
him except that he was an “older, white guy conservatively dressed.” He had
given her tips on how to shoot it and she had practiced using it.
“And the Teflon?”
Daria swallowed. “I read about that on the net, Mom. I
bought some of that at the Handy Dandy.”
True enough. The stuff was also used in cleaning skillets.
She wouldn’t reveal that her source had put it on for her and showed her how to
do it for herself in the future.
And so it went, until there was a knock at the door. “Oh,
dear,” said Helen getting up, “that’s probably your defense team, Daria.” Helen
recognized that knock.
“Defense team?” Daria sounded surprised, and even a little
scared. “Um, Mom,” said Daria nervously, “I.... I don’t want to talk to anyone
right now!”
“Daria, this is important!” When Helen saw Daria showing
rare vulnerability in her eyes, she relented, trying not to grind her teeth.
“For now, Daria.” Then her face scrunched. “It’s past noon. Daria, will you
please fix you and Quinn something?” When Daria looked at her blankly, she
added, “Please?”
Daria sighed and went into the kitchen with Quinn
following.
“So when are you going back to school?” asked Daria.
Quinn didn’t reply for a minute and Daria didn’t press
her. Then Quinn said, “They’re just having counseling today. But I don’t think
I want to be weak anymore. Can you show me how to be strong like you, Daria?”
Daria almost laughed. Her, strong? She was barely strong
enough to keep herself from screaming and sobbing nonstop 24/7 these days.
Daria fished out two microwavable pizzas and started preparing them. “I don’t
know if I’m that strong, Quinn,” said Daria finally, and a little weakly.
Quinn didn’t believe it, but she could see Daria was
struggling with a lot. She let it go for now. She still had Buffy for the time
being. Still, Buffy left her once and might do so again, and she wanted to be
ready to take care of herself.
While the first pizza was being nuked, Daria turned to
Quinn and asked, “So is the Fashion Club going to declare Kevlar in season?”
“Ha, ha,” said Quinn weakly. “They haven’t called me at
all.” She sounded a little hurt.
Daria was getting two more sodas out when she asked, “Have
you called them?”
Quinn shook her head. “No.... I’m not sure why. I think
I’ll talk to them Monday.”
The microwave dinged, and Daria put it on the table.
“Enjoy.”
Quinn was momentarily flushed. She would’ve gotten it! But
then she almost never did. She ate it silently while existing in some newly
discovered and unexplored part of her inner world, a part of herself that no
one, not even Quinn, had ever seen before.
While Daria was zapping her own pizza, she called Jane.
Jane picked up after three rings. “Hello?”
“Hey,” said Daria.
“DARIA!” Jane sounded happy. “I’ve been waiting here today
hoping I’d hear from you!”
“So you didn’t go to school, either?”
Jane snorted. Then she said, “You’re out of jail aren’t
you?”
“Yeah,” said Daria. “Listen, they didn’t place you in a
cell with anyone, did they?”
“Yeah,” said Jane, “someone named Greta. She was either a
cop or someone trying to turn in information in exchange for something, so I
just kept telling her about my art work until she begged me to shut up.”
“Good,” said Daria relieved. “I had a Beth do the same. I
hope she doesn’t reveal to the police that I got my gun from S-Mart.”
Jane started laughing, “Oh, you didn’t tell her Ash got it
for you, did you?”
Daria and Jane had watched Army of Darkness on a
recent Bad Movie Night. Daria, the proud owner of a new .32 Mark II pistol,
liked the scene where Ash is being tormented by his evil counterpart. The evil
counterpart stops when he gets a shotgun shoved in his face and is blown away.
“Good, bad,” said Ash philosophically, “I’m the guy with the gun.”
“I did tell her that,” said Daria. “I can only hope she
doesn’t turn me in.” She smiled into the phone a little. “I so hope we’re not
being listened in on and recorded right now,” said Daria with fake concern,
“maybe we shouldn’t talk about that over the phone.”
“Probably a good policy,” said Jane getting more serious.
“The police tore our house up and took our computer. Not that you can tell.
“They tore up my house, too,” said Daria frowning. “But I
don’t think they found anything. They took my computer, but anything they’ll
find will be circumstantial at best. They got a lot of stuff, but nearly
everything they’re trying to use against me is almost laughable, and Mom seems
to think she can get me off on everything. At least on this trial.”
“And if they find all the bodies we hid, they’ll never
take us alive, freaking friend.”
“Don’t even joke about that. If they get that on tape,
they’ll use it as evidence against us.”
“What’s with this we, kemosabe?”
“They’re probably not listening it, but I’d rather be
overly paranoid now than regretful later.”
“Have you called Tom yet?” asked Jane, sounding more
serious. “I hear his family is suspected of being drug lords.”
Daria snorted, having heard about that from her mom. “As
stupid as the Lawndale PD is,” said Daria, “it’s no wonder they still can’t
catch that burglar that keeps stealing all the appliances in crash and dash
burglaries.”
Jane decided against saying she had the computers and
coffee pot from the old school Lawndale's cybercafé and later coffeehouse
safely stashed away. So instead, she told Daria, “I talked to Mrs. Sloane. They
already know about being suspects, and she told me not to call over there
again, nor are you to call. Just thought you should know.”
Daria frowned deeply at that, but shrugged it off. “It
might be for the best anyway,” she murmured.
“Hey,” said Jane, “I’m going to
“I want to,” said Daria, “but there’s a coven of lawyers
in the living room that wouldn’t let me.”
“When can we get together?”
“Maybe this afternoon? But I’m not sure really.”
Quinn washed her own plate and left, reminding Daria of
her pizza. She got it out, much cooled, and started nibbling on it while she
kept talking.
“You coming to school on Monday?” asked Jane.
“I don’t know,” said Daria. “I haven’t heard anything on
that. I’d be kinda surprised if they let me, though.”
“Yeah,” said Jane, “well if they won’t let you go, then I
don’t go. It’s called solidarity.”
“Sounds more like a useful excuse.”
“Whatever,” said Jane sounding uncomfortable all of a
sudden. “Hey, call me as soon as we can get together, okay? I want to go get my
art supplies.”
Daria felt disappointment, and wondered if she had said
something. “Okay, freaky friend.”
“Hey,” said Jane encouragingly, “hang in there. We’ll be
watching Sick, Sad World together in no time.”
They said their good byes then, and Daria hung up envying
Jane being able to go to
3.
-------------------------------------
03/16/01 FRIDAY 2:30 P.M.
-------------------------------------
Jane was almost through shopping when she stopped in Heresies,
One of the books on sale was The Teenage Liberation
Handbook by Grace Llewellyn. Flipping through it, Jane thought it was an
amazingly well-written manual on how to learn without school and enjoy doing
it. There were even comprehensive chapters on overcoming legal problems,
getting into top colleges, and just about anything Jane could think of wanting
to know.
She found another one and bought both of them. Daria
almost certainly wasn’t going to be allowed in school for awhile, and if that
were the case, then Jane wasn’t going to go, either. Maybe she’d give one book
to Daria as a gift and give herself a gift of dropping out of school!
Finished with her shopping, she left and started walking
back to Dega Street when she overheard some of the local “artistes” talking,
and the name Daria came up more than once. She looked to see five artist-types,
mid-20’s, drinking cappuccinos and lattes at one of the outdoor tables of one
of the coffee bars. She casually went to sit at the nearest table and listened
in, setting her bags beside her as if she needed to rest her arms.
“Yeah,” said a red-haired woman, “they say she got her gun
from the same right-wing group Matthew was in. The real reason she shot Matthew
is because she had just found out he had been dating her sister on the side.”
“And Matthew and Daria were a couple?” This from a blonde.
“Yeah,” said the redhead, “I heard he lured her into the
group, but then started seeing her sister, too.”
“I heard,” said a lanky man with long, brown hair in a
ponytail, “That Daria and Matthew were to convert Quinn, but when she refused
and threatened to turn them all in, the group decided Quinn had to die! But Daria
couldn’t let Matthew kill her own sister while she watched. So at the last
minute, she took out Matthew instead.”
Jane should be furious. But this was funny. It was too
much like seeing an episode of Sick, Sad World being made up right in
front of her.
“What cause or group was this?” asked Jane, a smirk on her
face, “Some people dabbling in Nazi rituals, or what?”
“Not dabbling,” said a dark-skinned man with Indian
features excitedly, while pretending to be shocked, outraged, and disappointed.
“Neo-Nazi all the way. They were champions of the second amendment while
protesting the IRS!”
“Hmph,” said Jane, “Why would Nazis want the Second
Amendment, and oppose the IRS?”
“They want minorities to keep killing themselves,” said
the redhead in a tone suggesting she thought Jane wasn’t sophisticated enough
for them.
“And that’s why they want white people to have guns, too?
Besides, how can you have a Nazi police state without taxes?” Jane sensed a
shift as the others were shutting her out. No fair using logic, she
thought.
The dark skinned man spoke up. “Daria, a lifelong outcast,
is of German descent. Which you would know if you knew her last name was
MORGENDORFFER. It’s German for
The others murmured assent. Jane wondered if they were
literally insane, or if this was just another aspect of human stupidity she
hadn’t experienced until now.
“I guess you aren’t of German descent,” said Jane wryly,
“since you don’t stereotype or persecute others for their views or ancestors.
But what about Quinn? Do you think Quinn was a random mutation?”
“You don’t believe us, do you?” said the blonde, “You
think the media are involved in some huge conspiracy? So you get your news off
the internet or something?”
Jane blinked. This is on the news? she wondered in
shock. That District Attorney lady had talked about the police thinking Daria
and Jane were drug dealers with Matthew; she didn’t say anything about Nazis. Are
they saying I’m a Nazi, too?
She filed that away to think about later, but she felt her
mouth getting a little dry. “A conspiracy to sell papers and air time,” said
Jane, a little more subdued, “Sure. That’s why they try to upset and entertain
people so much. To make money, and to be more valuable to their advertisers by
drawing you in with chicanery and fear. That’s why I prefer Sick, Sad World.
It sorta spoofs all the other news programs.”
“You watch Sick, Sad World?” asked the redhead in a
tone that said Jane really needed to evolve.
“Hmmm,” said the pony-tailed man. “The corporations do own
the media and thus control what they put out, and by extension the rest of us.
They also own many of the politicians. I suppose that might count as
conspiratorial.”
“That’s different!” the redhead nearly shouted. “I’m
talking about FALSE conspiracies.”
“Ah,” said Jane, “when someone, like say the World Health
Organization, says fluoride is poisonous and corporations shouldn’t force
taxpayers to drink it at their own expense, that’s a no-good conspiracy. But if
someone, like say the media owned by the evil corporations, says that tobacco companies
put a chemical in cigarettes to make them more addictive, that’s a real
conspiracy?”
Every one of them glared at her. Jane was finding this
fun, but also scary. Just then she saw a squad car driving by slowly. She
resisted the urge to wave at them, or act like she was selling stuff she didn’t
want the cops to know about.
“The SPLC!” shouted the blonde suddenly, bringing Jane’s
attention back to the group. “It’s on the SPLC web site. They showed pictures
of Daria, Quinn, Matthew, Jim, the KKK, and several Nazi leaders together.”
“Really? This news off the internet instead of the media
mired in the corporate conspiracy?” said Jane rhetorically. “Aren’t the SPLC
and ADL both organizations infamous for mostly quoting each other, and simply
taking a few bad examples and painting everyone else with the same wide brush?
And then you must send them money so they can fight these evils -- evils that
they alone can tell you about?” Casual contempt dripped from her voice.
“That’s not true. I’ve read about these militias in at
least seven different journals.” The dark-skinned man sounded annoyed.
“Sure,” Jane nodded, “but did you check the footnotes?
Every reference I’ve seen, no matter where I read it, was quoting either SPLC
or ADL or both.”
Daria had complained about this not too long ago, which
was why Jane had the replies on the tip of her tongue, but a small part of her
mind suddenly wondered, What if she really was dabbling in something weird
with that secretive gun nut? And have the police finally caught him, too?
She felt a hint of sweat at that thought, for that gun nut
knew her name and
“Do you have a point?” asked the lanky one in a peevish
tone, bringing Jane back out of her thoughts.
That sounded familiar to Jane, but she couldn’t place it.
“Never mind. You say they were together? How did you recognize Daria and Quinn
with their white robes and hood on?”
“Um, no,” said the blonde hesitantly, “They weren’t
together exactly, but the SPLC wouldn’t have put the pictures side by side if
they didn’t belong together.”
Jane giggled. Then stopped and said, “Oops, that didn’t
even pass the giggle test.” She actually felt a little better, since whatever
had just come out on the news was, at best, vague. She remembered the
ridiculous reports that had come out right after the shooting at Lawndale High.
They were just as confused as what she was hearing now.
“What!?” asked the redhead, clearly annoyed with Jane.
“Never mind,” Jane repeated. “I was just wondering, what
if instead of fearing the so-called Nazi conspirators, you were fearing the
Jewish conspirators? Or, if instead of right-wing hate mongers raining terror
down on the land, you feared minority mobs raining terror down on the land?
Would you be any different from how you are now?”
The pony-tailed man definitely spoke to her as if she were
a slow child. “We know that their group was into guns and the shooting, ahem,
sports. That seems enough to be suspicious about right there. Many second
amendment fanatics are known racists, antigovernment reactionaries, and
disciples of Hitler.”
“Q.E.D.,” said Jane trying not to laugh, “I’ll try to
remember the difference so that my particular hates and prejudices remain
fashionable. And I’ll keep it in mind the next time I see some cops or soldiers
that seem to appreciate their guns too much. But you didn’t answer the
question.” The casual contempt was back in her voice, and she told herself to
cool it. But now she was starting to get mad, too.
They were all glaring at her, and she was starting to feel
what her mom called “hate vibes” radiating from these champions of the
oppressed, the compassionate spokes-entities of the weak. They didn't answer
the question and weren't going to, either. So there.
She wondered how they’d have handled all the discrepancies
that Daria could have pointed out to them. Probably just say it was Nazi
propaganda and not think about it. That’s the beauty of ad hominem attacks,
Jane mused to herself.
But if having a gun meant you were a Nazi, Jane
wondered with a sense of resentment, what would they think of art being
equated with Hitler? Pasting a serious expression on her face, she asked,
“But on a related note, what do you think about Hitler’s career as an artist?”
All five of them flinched as one, as though they had all
been slapped. Obviously they got the reference. They pointedly got up and moved
to the next table. They formed a much tighter circle to continue their gossip.
Jane shook her head in amazement. That conversation was
downright Dada-esque. This was suddenly not so funny-yet-infuriating, but
simply depressing. For the first time, she really could imagine people
hysterically burning witches at the stake. The world really was an asylum.
She wanted to get herself and her supplies home. But since
she had some more money left, she decided to get some cappuccino pillow packs
for
Jane went home and turned on the TV. While she let the TV
drone on, she set up her supplies and started to paint..
She saw that Jim Foster was apparently some kind of Nazi,
and Matthew was trying to start a race war with the shooting. The reporter
insinuated that Daria and Quinn were selling methamphetamines with Matthew to
raise the money for the guns and ammo to start the said race war, but no one
knew why Matthew tried to shoot Quinn and got shot himself by Daria in the end.
Some suggested that Matthew tried shooting Quinn because she was “too weak” to
shoot members of minorities, and Daria shot him at that point.
She noted that the talking head never said any of
this. It was all “reports indicate” or “reliable sources have informed the
authorities,” along with a lot of “maybes” and “possiblies” and “probabalies”
She watched, incredibly tense, waiting to see if her name
would come up. It didn’t, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She finally
switched to some cartoons and went to look out her window, grateful that there
hadn’t been any reporters waiting for her when she got home. She was pretty
sure that they’d want to interview her before long.
And
She thought she should talk to
A bit later, her canvass had a rough a scene of Daria tied
to a stake with a Hitler mustache being placed on her. All the people around
her wore Nazi armbands while carrying signs saying, “Say No to Hate!” and
“Hitler is Evil!”
But she didn’t finish it at this time. Instead, she set
her brushes to soak and went downstairs to make some cappuccino for herself and
Trent. It would be time to wake him up for his gig soon, and she wanted to wake
him up a little early so she could talk to the one person she could talk to
about her life.
Especially about a dark secret she now carried about the
day of the shooting that she knew she could never let Daria know.
4.
---------------------------------
03/16/01 FRIDAY 6 P.M.
----------------------------------
Daria lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She’d come
upstairs after her dad came in the front door threatening to kill all the
reporters. Her mom had demanded that he calm down and not make death threats,
and he’d said they were asking about Daria and Quinn starting some race war.
So what her mom feared was happening. It didn’t make any
sense. She’d shot Matthew, how could she be with Matthew?
Helen had already fired one lawyer, and another left of
his own volition. Two down, two to go. After calming her dad down, her mom when
on trying to figure out which one would defend Daria in court.
It was all out of Daria’s hands. Control of her own life
belonged to other people. Feeling tired all of a sudden, she’d come up here,
hoping to sleep.
Her room still held a sense of violation, but it remained
the place she wanted to retreat to. She couldn’t sleep, so she fantasized about
hiding in some isolated cabin after she’d robbed a bank. Maybe she’d even fall
in with some cult or patriot group, as long as they provided good networking
and support against the authorities. In the rage that she kept hidden under her
intense sense of self-control, she definitely considered many of the
“extremists” to be the lesser evil at this point.
Her bittersweet fantasies (and first serious
considerations of a plan to live them out) were interrupted by Helen calling
her down. She frowned and looked at the clock. She hadn’t even been up here for
an hour! With a sigh and a moment to collect herself, she went to see what her
mom wanted.
Helen was downstairs with Ms. Karen Morrison, the lawyer
chosen to be Daria’s representation. The other lawyer had gone home, though he
was still on the team.
Helen didn’t give him much thought right now as she was
still steaming over a police report of an interview with Jake. He told her he hadn’t
said anything! But this report claimed he said he didn’t KNOW anything. He’d
confirmed that Daria was unaccounted for and not at home during the times that
Warner thought she was conducting her drug business at the Zen.
She would bring it up, but Jake probably wouldn’t even
remember it. He was upstairs popping valiums. She left him alone.
This didn’t prove Daria was into anything. It just meant
she wasn’t home. But it wouldn’t look good. Juries, Helen knew, tend to follow
the line that people don’t get arrested unless they do something wrong.
Circumstantial evidence was often enough to make someone fry.
She didn’t want to say anything to Daria right now. The
girl seemed to be showing real fear whenever she let her guard down for a
moment. Helen would do enough worrying for both of them.
Daria, now in the living room with Helen and the lawyer,
sat down, looking apprehensive for some reason. Daria looked at the lawyer and
saw a woman about Helen’s age, with short, stylish chestnut brown hair, prominent
nose with freckles, glasses, and wearing a power suit darker than Helen’s, but
otherwise about the same.
The lawyer smiled at Daria, trying to relax her. “I’m
Karen Morrison,” she told Daria. “I’m going to be in charge of managing your
defense under your mother’s supervision. I want you to know that I think we can
clear you of nearly all charges. We might even get you enough sympathy that we
can get the one charge--that of having a gun--to nothing more than probation.”
“Um,” said Daria unconvinced, “that’s good to know.” Daria
saw tension around her mom’s eyes and knew that she wasn’t as sure as Ms.
Morrison was. But she was trying to make Daria believe it.
“But,” said Ms. Morrison, “I need to ask you for some of
the details around the acquisition of the gun.”
“Okay,” said Daria steeling herself, and ransacking her
memory for what she had told her mom earlier.
And so it goes on, Daria thought. Everybody hitting her
with the questions over and over. It just never stopped. She may have taken a life,
but she saved many other lives as well. Why couldn’t they let up on her?
Ms. Morrison piped in, “The good news is that there is
just enough public opinion in favor of Daria, along with pressure exerted by
the NRA, that Mayor Grant is going to remain neutral in this specific issue and
promote crime control over gun control. The NRA want to keep him in place to
keep another, ahem, ‘gun grabber’ from getting in.”
“Will that affect my ability to sue Autuga Arms and
Taurus?” asked Helen.
“Huh?” Daria didn’t know where that had come from.
Helen looked to Daria and remembered she was there. “Oh,
Daria, I figured out how to cover the costs of your defense and therapy! I can
sue the manufacturers who made the guns that you and Matthew used. They should be
more careful about who buys their guns and how they’re used.”
Daria blinked a couple of times before asking, “Won’t that
alienate the NRA?”
"We don't want to depend on the NRA anyway," Ms
Morrison observed. "Your image won't be helped by that association."
“And besides, Daria,” Helen added, “Mrs. Alice Brand, the
one overseeing the legal aspects here in Lawndale for HCI, has agreed help in
your defense as long as you explain, on video, that you felt you had no other
choice.”
Daria gave her mom and her defense lawyer a suspicious
look but nodded her head.
“Good,” said Helen sounding pleased. “They’ll want you say
you hate guns, but that shouldn’t be too hard. After all you’ve been through,
I’m sure it’s true.”
Daria shook her head a bit. “I don’t know about that. I
don’t take sides, remember?”
“Not even your own side?” asked Ms Morrison pointedly;
there was a hint of steel under her voice.
“Mmmm,” grunted Daria. “Okay, but don’t alienate the NRA
until I’m sure I can go through with this.”
“Of course you can go through with this, Daria. You need
all the help you can get," Ms Morrison smiled.
"And maybe we can get guns away from people like
Matthew when this is all over with.” Helen sounded grimly hopeful.
“And away from people like me, too,” Daria pointed out.
“If people like Matthew don’t have guns, then you won’t
need guns.” Helen’s face was still pleasant, but her voice had real steel in it
too. “The NRA will keep fighting the laws used against you, while fighting
Fillman who’s prosecuting you. They don’t want HCI putting someone in the
mayor’s office and possibly going on to become a more powerful politician down
the road. So it still works out” Helen’s voice was darker here. She hated both
Mayor Grant and Roger Fillman and hoped they both fell off the face of the
Earth any day now.
“I don’t know,” said Daria doubtfully, “the NRA could
still pull their money. And I don’t see why HCI would want to defend me.”
“Daria,” said Helen, “if HCI paints you as someone who had
no choice and only did what you did because there were too many guns out among
the public, they’ll not only take up covering your defense, but they’ll remove
their support of Fillman. That means he loses a lot of his motivation and
resources for prosecuting you in the first place.”
Daria was still skeptical. “So HCI will stand aside and
let the NRA-loving mayor have
Helen smiled down at Daria. “Mrs. Alice Brand says she’s
running for mayor in the next election!”
Daria felt real uncomfortable becoming a spokesperson for
some group. But if it meant staying out of prison, maybe she should do it. She
was still debating this internally when Quinn came down.
All three looked at Quinn with bemusement as she went up
to her mom, put her hands on her hips, and said, “Mom, I want to get a gun.”
Bemusement turned to shock all around. Helen felt her
heart skip a beat. She forced out a laugh. “Quinn, you’ve been through a lot.
I’m sure you can see why you don’t want anything to do with a gun.”
“I do, Mom,” said Quinn, sounding very determined. “If I
had a gun, one that works, I could have shot Matthew instead of running! I
wouldn’t have to be scared!”
“Remember your nightmares, Quinn. A gun doesn’t work. Your
dreams are trying to tell you something.” Helen’s voice was steely again.
“My dreams are telling me I need my own gun,” said Quinn
stubbornly. “One that works. One that belongs to me.” She had just woken up
from a Matthew nightmare, and she was getting really tired of this. Obviously,
Buffy couldn’t watch over her 24/7. She wanted a gun in her dream that worked,
and the only way she could see to do that was to get her own gun.
“Quinn,” sighed Helen, glancing at Daria, “being afraid
might be the worst reason to get a gun.”
“Besides,” added Ms. Morrison, “it’s illegal.”
“It’s illegal for me to buy a gun, not have one,” said
Quinn somewhat haughtily.
“Quinn,” said Ms. Morrison, “we have the police so that we
don’t all have to defend our lives all the time.”
Daria rolled her eyes and wondered how much attention she
even paid to the actual events of the case. “Yeah, Quinn,” said Daria in all
too familiar voice that instantly annoyed Helen, “and we have dentists, which
is why I’m throwing my toothbrush away.”
Quinn smiled slightly, as Helen and Ms. Morrison both
looked pained.
“Guns don’t always work,” said Ms. Morrison,
“So?” asked Quinn crossing her arms.
“So you shouldn’t depend on them,” said Ms. Morrison.
“All too true,” said Daria in an all-too-familiar tone,
“that’s why I’m going to go throw the fire extinguisher away, too.”
“It’s not going to happen, Quinn,” said Helen firmly, “end
of discussion.” She made a motion that said she was tuning Quinn out.
Quinn was suddenly close to tears. “I want to be able to
do something other than cry and beg next time, Mom, please! The nightmares are
almost over, but they still happen sometimes!”
Helen’s face took on a guilty shade, and she got up and
hugged Quinn. “You don’t need a gun, sweetie, because Matthew is already dead.
Let it go.”
“There are other Matthews out there,” said Quinn, a bit of
steel in her own voice now.
Helen gritted her teeth. She was too tired to deal with
this, but she didn’t want Quinn to break down in hysterics or a crying fit.
“Tell you what, Quinn. There’s a self-defense course taught over at Middleton.
I’ll sign you up and then we’ll look into some other kind of self-defense
program that is more long term, like karate.”
“Karate wouldn’t have stopped Matthew,” said Quinn
stubbornly.
Helen sighed, “IF--If you show yourself responsible
enough, I will.... think..... about letting you learn to use a gun.”
Helen swore she could feel her blood pressure rising as she said that.
“So when does this class start?” asked Quinn, sounding
much more cheerful. Even if she never got her own gun, she would learn how to
shoot and then she could figure out why Daria’s gun never worked in her dream!
“I don’t know, Quinn. I’ll have to look into it,” said
Helen sounding tired.
“Is it that WSD Class over at Middleton?” asked Ms.
Morrison.
“Yes,” said Helen. “That’s the one.”
“The class for beginners is held on the first and third
Sundays of every month,” said Ms. Morrison. “The classes are a combination of
seminar, self-defense moves, and drills. I’ve taken it myself more than once, and
refer many of my clients there. Good introduction, designed for the women who
go to classes at Middleton, but open to anyone who pays for the course.” She
turned to Quinn and added pointedly, “And they teach you that you don’t need
guns.”
Quinn kept her own counsel on that. “Can I start this on
Sunday then?”
“Probably,” said Ms. Morrison thinking. “It’s $60, or so
it was the last time I checked, per class. Here, let me check.”
“See if Daria and I can take the class, too,” Helen added.
She wasn’t going to leave either of her daughters alone right now.
“Sure thing,” said Ms. Morrison.
“Hey, wait a minute,” said Daria, “I’m not going to some
class where you beat up on life-size dolls or something.”
“Daria,” said Helen firmly, “if you can learn to shoot a
gun and how to get rid of fingerprints on guns, then you can take at least one
class on how to use something OTHER than a gun to defend yourself!” When Daria
just stared relentlessly at Helen, she added with a nasty smile, “Do you really
want Quinn to be able to beat you up?”
Daria surrendered, maybe even sulked. Helen was glad they
could do something as a family, even if Jake wouldn’t be going. Helen felt a
lump in her throat when she contemplated the possibility that Daria wouldn’t be
taking part in anything with the family any more if she were sent to prison.
During all of this, Ms. Morrison made her call. Hanging up
after a quick talk, she said, “They have room. Class starts at 2 PM, lasts
until 8 PM.” Helen’s face showed she thought that wasn’t entirely to her
liking. “And,” Ms. Morrison added, “Mrs. Craft even said she’d let the
Morgendorffers take the beginning class for free.”
Helen smiled a bit at that. The lawyer in her wondered if
the group planned to use Quinn’s name in advertising somehow, but decided they
were probably just being good people. “Well, it should help work out some of
the adrenaline,” said Helen. “Okay, Sunday then.”
“Okay,” said Quinn, bouncing back upstairs.
Helen let out a breath. She hoped this helped Quinn feel
better, and she would drop this ridiculous notion of having a gun. Weren’t they
in enough trouble as it was?
Helen looked to Ms. Morrison, her eyes pleading for
understanding. “I’m sorry about that. It’s been very hard on Quinn.”
“I know,” said Ms. Morrison. “You see as many cases as I
have, and sometimes I think about getting a gun, too.”
And then it was back to Daria.
“Daria,” Helen said, “Mrs. Brand and her people will be
here on Monday. I want you on your best behavior.”
“I’ll try not to shoot anybody.”
Helen frowned but looked to Ms. Morrison. “So how are we
on the murder charge?”
“They’re calling it Second Degree Homicide,” said Ms.
Morrison, “saying it was premeditated. The video footage clearly shows that it
was justifiable as Homicide by Necessity. The only footage they can exploit is
Daria sneaking the gun in, but that’s a lesser law in of itself, and I’m
confident we can convince the jury that it was a precautionary measure under
extreme circumstances, and not premeditated homicide.”
Helen asked, “Can we do anything about how the police
‘questioned’ Daria and Jane?”
“No, unfortunately,” replied Ms. Morrison. “The Reid
technique is perfectly legal in
“What they did to Daria can’t be legal!” snapped Helen
with some heat.
“It is,” she said again. “Some people feel that criminals
have too many advantages, so the police learn to crack suspects in other ways.”
She shrugged. “Some would say the police don’t really care about stopping crime
but in making their departments look good and confiscating what they can. Some
allow meth dealers to operate for months in hopes of achieving bigger busts and
more property and money to seize for themselves, or at least their
departments.”
“Damnation,” muttered Helen. This case was really opening
her eyes, and she didn’t care for it. It reminded her of how she saw the world
when she was younger, and that just was uncomfortable.
Daria piped in with, “What did I tell you about trusting
pimps, Mom?”
“Daria!” cried Helen, “you’re not helping your case with
your insights!”
After a moment Ms. Morrison said, “I think we can all use
some rest.” Taking up her papers, she repeated they had enough dirt on the
Lawndale PD and there was a good chance of acquitting Daria. She crisply walked
to the door with Helen beside her, and her hard heels clicked on the entry. Her
briefcase in hand, she left into a light afternoon rain, not bothering with an
umbrella.
Daria still sat where she was, silently appraising her
mom. When Helen turned to Daria, her own eyes widened and her face reddened at
Daria’s scrutiny.
Daria cleared her throat. “Do you really think I have a
chance?”
“Yes, Daria, I do,” said Helen, walking back. She sounded
confident of that much at least. She sat beside Daria, hugging her. “I’ve got a
wonderful defense team, and you definitely had some extenuating circumstances.
When it comes to light that the police released Matthew with his gun, we might
even get all charges dropped.” Helen swallowed, as she didn’t really believe
that last part.
“So how many cases has Ms. Morrison won, anyway?”
Helen tensed, causing Daria to tense. “She’s defended many
women who were charged with killing or shooting an abusive husband or father.
She has had some success with that.”
Daria rolled her eyes. “And some failure, too, then?”
Helen grimaced. “Well.... she got into prosecuting people
over ritual abuse based on hypnotically retrieved memories, and that didn’t
turn out too well.” In fact, Ms. Morrison turned out so bad as a prosecutor
that she was almost disbarred. But she made a good defense lawyer and was
willing to work a lot cheaper than most other lawyers.
Helen also left out how Ms. Morrison would choose her
cases by measuring how likely it would gain her name recognition since she was
aspiring to be a writer for feminist legal causes, in spite of her inexplicable
support of Bill Clinton over the charges regarding Paula Jones and Juanita Broaddrick,
simply because she didn’t want to alienate the people at Ms. magazine.
She definitely left out Ms. Morrison’s most notable
failure. A 4’9” woman had shot a man who topped 6’ and turned out to be a
serial rapist looking for a new victim. She didn’t have a permit for the gun
because the city she lived in gave gun permits only to government workers and
those connected to them. Despite Ms. Morrison’s defense -- surely not because
of it -- the woman did more time for possession of her gun than the rapist she
wounded had done for his last rape. Helen just knew with the other lawyers
helping, Ms. Morrison would do better for Daria.
But Daria felt her hopes sink as she saw Helen forcing her
smile.
Helen saw Daria’s face fall slightly and hugged her again.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, everything will turn out fine.” She got up then and went
into the kitchen.
Daria ignored the phone message machine when it came on,
but picked it up when she heard Mr. DeMartino’s barely coherent growl.
“Hello,” said Daria.
“Daria,” growled Mr. DeMartino. “I’m glad you’re out.”
“Um, thanks,” Daria replied. “Will that be all?”
“No,” growled Mr. DeMartino. “I’m afraid the school board
has just made it official. You’re not to return to school, Daria. The law is on
their side. So I thought I should tell your mother what the stupid miscreants
just called to tell
“Okay,” said Daria. In truth, knowing she wasn’t going
back was something of a relief. Helen was there now and Daria just handed it to
her. She hoped her mom wasn’t getting psychic.
“Yes?” asked Helen a little brusquely
“Mrs. Morgendorffer,” started Anthony.
“Helen, please.”
“Helen,” growled Anthony, “It is my sad duty to tell you
the school board has kicked Daria out of school. She is not to show up at all.
Her locker was cleaned out. Anything that wasn’t school property has already
been taken as evidence. I’m sorry, Helen. I argued for her, but they hid behind
the laws.”
Helen was frowning, but she had expected this. She knew if
it had been anyone else’s kid, she’d support such a decision herself. She
sighed and said, “Thank you, Anthony. I expected that.”
“It’s still not right,” he grumbled.
“Thank you for standing up for her.”
“Not a problem. And I will continue to stand up for her.”
Helen said good bye and hung up.
She didn’t know what to say so she sat down beside Daria
and hugged her. “I’m sorry, honey. I don’t want you leaving the house right now
anyway.”
Daria sat there enduring her mom’s affection. Helen
withdrew when Daria finally picked up the remote and flipped on the TV and
started channel surfing. Helen was about to get up when her eyes widened.
“Daria, stop!” cried Helen, putting a hand on Daria’s arm
with the remote. “Go back to the last channel!”
Daria sighed and did so. It was some news program. Daria
couldn’t see what had upset her mom, though she had a bad feeling as she saw a
man who was listed as Mr. Morris Dees of the Southern Poverty Legal Center.
“The Lawndale PD,” he stated, “have evidence that Matthew
was a cell of one raised to believe in government conspiracies and racist
ideology, as his father, Jim Foster has done. We also believe he inducted Quinn
and Daria Morgendorffer into carrying guns and drugs to support the first
strike to start a race war.”
“Excuse me?” Her dad had yelled about something like this
and her mom had mentioned it, but it had seemed like such an impossibly stupid
idea then. Now, hearing it stated on TV as fact, she reeled as the reality of
it struck her.
Helen stared at the TV, leaning forward, even as she
answered. “He’s looking for a new cash cow. He’s fallen on some hard times and
he’s desperate to inject some life into the SPLC.”
Now the news was explaining so-called “Nazi ideologies”
that sounded like they were ripped out of Sick, Sad World or a market
tabloid.
Daria felt sick. “Why does he have to drag me and Quinn
into it?”
“Because Matthew’s family isn’t worth suing. Ours is.”
Helen shrugged, still staring at the TV. “Also, someone dead isn’t as scary as
people who are alive, like you and Quinn. Kids don’t have a good reputation,
you know. Every time you hear of a teenager on the news, it seems they’re doing
drugs or killing someone.”
“That’s funny,” said Daria, looking at Helen. “Every time
I hear of a teacher on the news, it’s about pedophilia. Are all teachers
pedophiles then?” When Helen looked back at her in surprise, she continued
with, “Every time I hear of a plane on the news, it crashed or blew up. Does
that happen to all planes, or even most of them?”
“Daria,” said Helen a little desperately, “I never said it
was right. It’s just how people are. The bad is flapped in front of them all
the time until the bad is all they think about.”
Daria rolled her eyes. This was certainly becoming
educational. Why had her mom always been telling her to be more positive? “So
why is he after me and Quinn? And why does he think he’ll get away with it?”
Helen leaned back a bit. “
Helen didn’t feel like mentioning the scandals with his
wife, stepdaughter, and other family members. Nor the sleazy fund raisings, the
settlements that went almost entirely to him, and the alliances with groups
that seem to actually promote racial intolerance--the same intolerance he
benefited from. In the end, Dees seemed to be as sleazy as
Daria was still trying to figure this guy out. “So he
practices a form of McCarthyism?”
“You could say that,” said Helen as she returned to
watching the show. My jury!, Helen was thinking as she watched this with
a growing sense of horror.
“And in the old days, if he were Catholic he would be
calling any anti-Catholic organization, like the Protestants -- or any group
too wealthy for its own good, like the Templars -- as a group of evil villains
in order to justify robbing them?”
Helen sighed. “Daria.... fine, yes, that’s pretty much
it.”
“And I’m supposed to trust the same courts he gets away
with this in?”
“Daria!” Helen, now truly angry, almost sent Daria to her
room before she calmed herself down. She reminded herself that Daria was only
18 and in a situation that was jading even her. Daria was normally cynical. Why
wouldn’t she be more cynical still about this?
“So what is this ‘cell of one’ that Matthew inducted me
and Quinn into, anyway?” asked Daria more calmly.
Helen blinked at her a couple of times trying to get her
mind back on track, before saying, “Basically, they’re leaderless cells,
typically a lone individual, acting out on the hate propaganda of some white
supremacist organization.”
“So Matthew, Quinn, and I are a part of a group without a
group?”
Helen’s mouth dropped open for a moment before she nodded.
“That’s another way to put it, yes.”
Daria snorted and crossed her own arms. “Perfect. So
monsters like me can drop on people from the trees and rooftops raining terror
down on the land with our bombs and guns. And it can’t be disproven, because
our invisibility is proof of the truth of his claim. That’s even better than
the satanic panics of the 80s. So people had better be afraid and support
Helen’s face got red. She forced herself not to yell at
her for being cynical and tearing down things she didn’t understand.
Regrettably, it seemed Daria understood it even better than she had.
Maybe the problem was she, as a successful adult, had
bought into the game and had to ignore the rotten smell to get along with
everybody else and sleep (somewhat) soundly at night. She swallowed and looked
to the TV again, more worried about how the court case would come out than she
had been earlier.
The pointless lesson on Nazi beliefs, which had nothing to
do with anyone (except possibly Jim Foster, though he probably found some of
the stuff ridiculous, too) was over. Now cheerful music played as people who
looked to be nearing orgasm chewed gum, which was followed by another
commercial of people celebrating their ability to wait and order at Taco Bell.
Then it came back to Bush being introduced as someone
about to speak on the
“The principal and another student were shot. Then one of
the shooters shot the other one in the back. This appears to be a case of
vigilante justice. But we will not... let any person... at any age... take the
law into their own hands. No one should have the gall to say...” Bush squinted
at the camera, or more likely at the words he was being fed right by the cam.
“To say that I think you should die and take that life.”
Helen gasped. The nerve! Just what was he famous for in
“I plan to send out a message,” said the Bush image,
gaining momentum, “that we will not tolerate this kind of brutal crime. We will
not live in fear. One of the shooters is already dead. It is my hope that the
state of
Helen was speechless. Once again, he practiced what he
would deny everyone else. Was leading by example too radical a concept? And why
did he refer to Daria as ‘he’?
Someone asked a question Helen couldn’t hear.
Bush leaned his ear to the audience slightly as he asked
“I’m sorry, what?”
The voice was clearer. “What about the details about the
second shooter saving her little sister from a drug dealing stalker? How does
that change things?”
Bush shook his head and then squinted his eyes again.
“That doesn’t change anything. She brought a gun to school which is supposed to
be a safe learning environment. She should have picked up a phone and called
911, not picked up a gun. More so.... I have helped sponsor such laws to make
all schools safer. And if you use a gun illegally, then you will do hard time.
At the very least.”
Bush took another question, listening with his hand to his
ear this time.
“How can schools be made safer?”
Bush looked down for a moment and then looked back up.
“I’m glad you...I’m glad you asked me that. I am. I will make every school
safer by giving the BATF more powers to go into schools, and if necessary,
handle security detail at the schools that are quickly becoming battle grounds
spinning out of control. By keeping armed and prepared agents and deputies in
our schools, we’ll finally get guns out of our schools.”
Helen thought Bush was supposed to be FOR guns, not
against them. She didn’t understand this. She really had to stop listening to
Bush when she was this tired. She never could make sense out of what he said.
She was pretty sure that there was no logic in whatever he had just said.
Then the scene switched to Ashcroft. Maybe he’d say
something else. Wasn’t he supposed to be a civil libertarian or something?
Libertarians, Helen knew, were into guns, right along with sex and drugs.
That’s why Libertarianism was known in some legal circles as a felony waiting
to happen.
Ashcroft did seem to see guns in the same light as sex and
drugs, but that view could hardly be called libertarian. He briefly mentioned
the Gun Free Zones Act and the Project Safe Neighborhoods that, with the help
of the BATF, automatically prosecuted anyone in order to get violent gun users
off the street. This included anyone who even possessed a gun at school except
under stringent circumstances. He seemed to think this program had reached out
to “both students” and the students had rejected its help. Now one was dead and
the other would pay the price.
This was not the reaction she would’ve expected from them.
If this was what she was getting from Bush and Ashcroft, could she really
expect help from the NRA? Helen bit her lip without knowing it.
As for the BATF, she remembered when those psychos tore up
Daria’s
Some even said the heavy handed tactics of the BATF were
the prime cause for the growth of militias in the 90s, who were reacting
against their perception of the growing illegal violence from the government.
If the BATF inspired that much alienation in the people they served, she didn’t
think they would be very good at preventing violence in schools, either.
Helen didn’t blame Daria when she sighed and went upstairs
without saying a word. She’d let Daria be alone awhile before she checked on
her. She wondered if she could afford to miss the rest of this news cast. She
finally decided yes, and switched it off.
5.
-------------------------------------
03/16/01 FRIDAY 8:00 P.M.
---------------------------------------
Mystik Spiral was in an emergency meeting in a dark corner
of the Zen.
“I don’t know,” said Max. “A lot of the regulars aren’t
here, and the new people... something’s not right about them.”
“They’re cops,” said Nicholas
Trent looked at him. “Some of them are,” he rasped.
“Others move differently. They’re with someone else.”
“Who?” asked Max.
The others made faces. They didn’t like turning down gigs,
but they all sensed a storm brewing. It seemed a lot of strange people were
eyeing them in ways that were disturbing, even hostile.
They looked up when two tattooed guys, one with very short
brown hair, the other shaved bald, came up to them. Only the one with hair wore
a shirt.
The one with the shirt spoke up first. “Hey, we just got
here from
All four members stared at them in shock. They had been
solicited before, but this was the fifth one today, all within the hour of
their getting here.
“No, man,” said Max, “we don’t do that shit. And the
building is crawling with cops, so you shouldn’t ask around here anyway.”
The two looked at each other, back at Mystik Spiral, and
then left without another word.
All three grumbled out noises that said they were ready to
leave, too.
As they were leaving, the newly hired bouncer lumbered up
to them. “Hey, I was told to tell you that if you walk out now, you won’t get
paid for anything you did tonight, and you may not be invited back.”
All four muttered something like, “whatever,” and kept
going.
The bouncer gave a slight shrug and went back.
While Mystik Spiral was loading up the Tank with their
instruments, six men approached them in a group. They were a little too
well-dressed for the regular clientele, but not so much that they would stick
out.
“Hey, we hear you got some good crystal.”
“You heard wrong,” said
“Everyone is fingering you, man. Look, we don’t mind new
talent moving in, but it’s impolite to set up shop without getting to know the
locals. Have you heard of Evil Ed?”
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but they couldn’t place
it. After looking at the others behind him, he turned back and shook his head.
“He’s someone who's curious where you’re getting all your
supplies and equipment. He’s willing to pay a lot of money for the information,
and he’ll likely set you up and expand your customer base.”
“If that’s the way you’re going to be, then what you just
said had better be the truth.”
“Then get your skinny ass out of here, motherfucker. If I
were you, I wouldn’t come around here for awhile.”
None of them said anything. This was just one of the
things they were worried about happening. They played it cool and left without
another word. The six men watched them until after they had driven out of
sight. Then they went back into the Zen.
Two men in a car in the Zen parking lot saw it all, even
if they couldn’t hear what was said. A meeting between Daria’s thugs and Evil
Eddie’s! Obviously, the bust of Daria Morgendorffer was sending shock waves
through the criminal underworld, causing restlessness and borderline panic.
Warner must be right about the Morgendorffer-Sloane connection for the
methamphetamines. And they had caught at least one profile of nearly everyone
with their camera. Detective Warner would be pleased with tonight’s work.
They went inside to talk to an informant to try to find
out what the meeting had been about.
As the two plainclothes policemen walked into the Zen,
another man recorded their movements on a camcorder. Beside him lay the bionic
ear with which he had listened in on the entire meeting between Mystik Spiral
and Evil Eddie’s men. He debated going after Mystik Spiral but decided against
it. He had a pretty good idea where he could find any of them, and they weren’t
important enough yet.
He drove his car over to the parking lot of Denny’s and
the closed shops. But instead of going into Denny’s as he frequently had these
last two days, he grabbed his miniature digicam and microcassette voice
recorder and wandered back over to the Zen to see what else he could learn.
6.
------------------------------------------
03/17/01 SATURDAY 7:30 P.M.
--------------------------------------------
Tom Sloane’s cell phone rang.
“Dammit, not again!” he exclaimed as he picked it out of
his pocket. This was the only way his mom would let him out of the house. He’d
tell her he didn’t feel like going anywhere with her calling all the time, but
that would just encourage her to keep calling.
“Hello,” said Tom, not bothering to hide his exasperation.
“Tom?” His mom’s voice came through the phone. “You’ve
been gone quite awhile. We’d like you to come home right now.”
Tom smiled as he heard Elsie’s voice in the background. He
couldn’t hear what she said, but by the sound of it, his mom should be frowning
right now. She hated being kept at home almost as much as he did.
“I just finished having a bit of pizza. I’ll be home in a
little bit. Okay?” He let her know by the tone of his voice he didn’t care if
it were okay or not.
There was a pause. Finally, “Just don’t go see Daria. I
don’t know how much is a big misunderstanding, but I don’t want you hanging
around anyone who carries a gun. If she were to think you were about to break
up with her to go with someone else, she might shoot you before she calmed
down.”
“Fine,” said Tom shortly, “good bye.” He hung up before
his mom could repeat something else she already said a thousand times.
That line about breaking up made him uncomfortable, too.
He sighed in relief a minute later when it didn’t ring again. He heard
Cruxshadows on the radio and turned it up, willing it to wash out his mom’s
constant nagging.
Sorrow sings
her kisses in silence
and adjusts the blinds to keep the light
from mocking everything I feel
She dances slowly
a silhouette upon the curtains
but her eyes seem to cry
only empty tears
I beg for comfort with inadequate verse
it meant so much to me.... and so little to her
and I am sinking into a mountain of self pity
why can't I simply disregard all the things I feel?
"where is my angel when I need him most?"
"tell me now where did he go?"
While Even Angels Fall was a short song, it
powerfully moved him. But he shook his head and noticed that he had driven
right by Daria’s house. His heart skipped a beat when he saw a light in Daria’s
window. He drove for a little bit considering.
A block away, he parked his car and pulled out his phone,
calling Daria. He wasn’t surprised when he heard Quinn’s voice on the phone
going, “Hello?”
“Quinn?” asked Tom, “can you please let me talk to Daria?
It will be hard for me to call her later.”
“Sure,” said Quinn, sounding a little depressed, and then
he heard her cry out to Daria. Then the clicks of Daria getting on and Quinn
hanging up.
“Hello?” asked Daria, as calmly as if she hadn’t been all
over the news lately, with even the President of the
“Daria?” asked Tom, both concerned and excited, “It’s me.”
There was a pause. Then, “Hi. I thought you weren’t
supposed to talk to
“I’m 18. My parents can’t dictate what I do.”
“So are you alone?”
“You could say that. I’m in my car. Can I come over?”
“Tom,” said Daria, “the police are watching me. They want
to know who I meet, if I have my own drug cartel, where I got the gun from...”
“I’d like to know that, too,” interrupted Tom, “but I’m
glad you had it.”
“And everyone around me is now a suspect to them,” said
Daria as if Tom hadn’t spoken. “Your parents are right. You should stay away
from
“Dammit, Daria, what good is nepotism if I can’t get away
with doing what other people shouldn’t?”
Daria sighed. “Ok, come on over. But I doubt Mom will let
me leave. And right now, I don’t feel like leaving. Or much for company.”
“Say no more,” said Tom. “I just have to talk to you for a
little bit anyway, make sure you’re okay....”
“I’m not.”
“What?”
“I’m not okay.”
“I’m right by Glen Oaks. See you at the door?” Tom frowned
as a car went passed him. He was sure he’d seen that car before.
“Sure,” said Daria.
Daria hung up and walked slowly, almost resolutely, down
the stairs. Helen and Jake quit talking when they saw her at the foot of the
stairs. They watched silently with a concerned expression as she went to the
door and opened it.
“Daria,” said Helen, instantly standing up, “where are you
going?”
Daria didn’t even turn to look at them. “To make a cash
withdrawal at the Circle K with my Nazi Express Card.”
“Daria,” said Helen in a tone full of foreboding, “I don’t
think you should leave right now.” She was speaking as both her lawyer and her
mother.
“It’s okay, Mom, I’m just waiting for my connection to the
drug cartel I work for to show up.” Both Helen and Jake’s mouth dropped open at
that, but before Jake could freak out, Daria finished with, “Ah, there he is.”
“Helen,” whispered Jake in a near panic, “our little girl
is a drug lord!”
Helen rolled her eyes as she got up. “Just relax, Jake,
I’ll take care of this.”
Helen walked to the door and stood behind Daria. She had
mixed feelings when she saw Tom getting out of his car. “I don’t know, Daria.
His family made it very clear to me that they don’t want him to see you.”
“It’s only for a few minutes, Mom,” Daria replied with
something of a pleading expression on her face. “Don’t you think I deserve at
least a little closure?”
Helen started to say something and then closed her mouth.
She kissed Daria on the top of the head instead and walked back to the couch.
“Hey, Daria!” said Tom brightly at the door.
“Hey,” said Daria, “Come on in, but watch out for the
pendulum trap and land mines I put in.”
Tom walked in, smiling wistfully. He exchanged polite
greetings with Daria’s mom and dad before following Daria up to her room. Daria
unplugged her phone and sat down on the bed. Tom sat down beside her.
“Why did you unplug the phone?” asked a curious Tom.
“A jacked in phone can be used to eavesdrop on a room by
people who know how. I don’t think it’s admissible without a warrant, but they
might have one. I just don’t want to give them any more ammunition to use
against me.”
Tom’s eyes were wide now. “You think they’re watching you
that closely?”
“No, but better safe than sorry,” replied Daria
nonchalantly. Then her voice broke. “Just in case, I didn’t want them to hear
us now.” She held onto Tom and cried on his shoulder.
“Actually,” said Tom with a voice revealing how disturbed
he felt while he held her, “we’ve had a couple of detectives come by. They
asked me a bunch of WEIRD questions about what we did. I told them it was none
of their damn business and they threatened to arrest me. Luckily, my folks are
the type to get away with kicking them out on their rears. But they were
spooked by that, too. That’s why they don’t want me around you. Not because of
all the stuff being said on TV.” Tom’s brows furrowed. “Though that doesn’t
help.”
“Right now, you would be wise to stay far away from me,”
said Daria, still tearful but pulling away. “They think your family is running
cocaine or something, and I’m your representative to the little people of Lawndale.”
“Yeah,” said Tom, “Mom and Dad said something like that.
They got it from some of the people they support with donations and all. This
is serious stuff, Daria. Even rich people get murdered by the police in this
country for their possessions.”
Daria gave Tom a look that said she wished she could help
but didn’t know how.
“Oh, listen to me!” said Tom. “You’re the one facing
prison for the next several years, and I’m the one whining about our
situation.”
“Being target practice is something big to worry about,
Tom. Maybe you should stay close with your family now and distance yourself
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