Them

Janelle Stone was angry. As usual, it was about them. Them—the people who had made her life hell. Sure, she had beaten them in the end, and with a great payout on top of it, but that didn’t mean she forgave or forgot. Forgiving and forgetting just wasn’t her style. Wealthy or not, the anger was still there. Money could buy her freedom, but it couldn’t quell the rage that always simmered deep within her, the kind of rage she knew could only be purged through revenge. Her mind peeled back to the time she spent in the hospital after being rescued from the cult compound. She remembered Boris’s obsessive presence and relentless stare, followed by Officer Gilbert and other officers once she’d shoved Boris out of the picture. He had been ordered to stay away, since it wasn’t necessary—or ethical—for him to be around. The doctors insisted it was detrimental to her healing if she was constantly stressed. The officers pushed back, though, but not so far that she broke. What enraged her most was the fact that those who had wronged her had never truly paid the price. Maybe a few were reprimanded, but as far as she could tell, no one was fired or charged with anything. Just verbally scolded. Her freedom and the payout she received for being screwed over—that was justice. But their lies, their manipulations, and the way they got away with it? That was not justice. The way Gilbert led her to believe she liked her, wanted a relationship with her, made Janelle both embarrassed and furious. She was embarrassed that she’d started to fall for it, though deep down she realized Gilbert’s actions and words didn’t match those claims. Still, knowing she had been emotionally manipulated filled her with rage. Janelle wasn’t as stupid as she sometimes let on. Not entirely, anyway. She understood the logic behind Gilbert’s deception—making her believe she had an ally, only to secretly record their conversations in hopes Janelle would slip up and confess to crimes. Janelle would be damned if she ever gave them what they wanted. Yes, she had been responsible for attacking Stephanie after years of insults, and later her mother, who had treated her the same way, mostly about her weight. Knowing her mother couldn’t swim, Janelle had snuck over one day and pushed her into the deep end of the pool. She’d also beaten countless others, mostly men, who were too embarrassed to report her. Her suspicions of the police and their so-called “deals” proved right in the end. There had been red flags all along, but out of desperation, she wanted to believe in them until she had no choice but not to. If they had succeeded in tricking her into jail, she would’ve made damn sure to escape the first chance she got—no matter who had to be hurt along the way. Over the years, Janelle resolved to put herself first. She denied herself friends, relationships, and lived almost like a hermit in Montenegro, a country with no extradition treaty with the U.S. That was the main reason she’d moved there. She knew she would bide her time, let the others think they’d gotten away scot-free, and then one day, she would strike. But for now, she had to return to the U.S. to carry out part of her revenge plan. She thought back to her escape, forever grateful to the nurse who had secretly sided with her. That nurse, with the help of her tech-savvy son, had intercepted the drone that was supposed to carry Janelle to jail. She awoke that morning expecting to be driven to a safehouse. Naively, she still wanted to believe the police wouldn’t be cruel enough to lie. Then Officer Cole—an older Black officer Janelle actually liked, despite her own racism—told her there was a change of plans. She would be transported by drone helicopter, the kind used to rush critically injured or ill people to hospitals. They said it would be quicker and safer than traveling by road. Gullible as she was, she believed it—at least mostly. The drone had one narrow bed, no room for anyone else. That morning, Cole, Gilbert, Walker, and a few others escorted her onto the roof, where the drone sat waiting. She was strapped to the gurney by a nurse who insisted it was standard safety protocol. Janelle couldn’t help but notice Gilbert’s grin—far too exaggerated to be genuine. She remembered once asking Gilbert why she rarely smiled, and Gilbert had said she only smiled when she had a serious reason to. That day, Gilbert seemed a little too happy for her. Janelle chose to ignore it, though. She also noticed Cole’s resolute, somewhat downcast expression as the drone lifted from the rooftop. Less than half an hour later, it landed on another rooftop. But it wasn’t the safehouse she’d been promised—it was the county jail. Janelle’s first red flag came when six stony-faced officers appeared, one holding a shotgun. Not aimed at her, but present all the same. Come on, she thought. This isn’t normal for someone going to a safehouse. She should have been driven by one or two officers, then left alone—not flown to a rooftop where half a dozen cops were waiting. The nearest officer reached for the drone’s glass door, lifting it upward like a trunk. He tugged and tugged, but it wouldn’t open. Strapped to the gurney, Janelle’s eyes shifted to a female officer wearing sunglasses, chewing gum. Janelle smiled politely. The officer didn’t smile back. That, and the fact that no one spoke to her directly and only muttered among themselves, raised even more alarms. “Is everything OK?” Janelle asked. Ignoring her, they kept talking amongst themselves. Then came the first tendrils of real dread in her gut. “Why isn’t anyone talking to me?” she demanded—just as the drone suddenly began to lift back into the air. The officer tugged frantically at the door as the drone rose higher. Janelle heard shouts, but soon the officers were out of view. She was up in the air again, sailing away.