Them

Janelle Stone sat down at her table and opened her laptop. It was time to do what she had loved to do for decades… complain in her journal about everything that pissed her off. She’d been keeping it private until now, ultra paranoid of anyone finding it and discovering who she was, not wanting anyone to know her whereabouts. But now that she learned from news reports that not only did Boris and Lauren survive, but she had also underestimated the police work that would be done to find where she had gone. She hadn’t thought of the fact that they might contact every single fucking taxi and driver service in the area, but they had, and Lyft confirmed that they had dropped her off at the airport. From there, they were able to figure out where she’d flown to. So now that the jig was up on her location, she felt it was time to go public. She giggled to herself. Now that they were aware of where she was anyway, she was delighted at the thought of writing about certain people and subjects. She would still go through Tor and keep her VPN enabled because knowing what country she had fled to was one thing, but knowing exactly where she was in that country was another. Even with no extradition treaty, she couldn’t know if there would be such a thing in the future, and she still didn’t want her exact location known because she wouldn’t put it past some people—particularly Boris—to go as vigilante as she had. So she created a whole new blog that would be public and began to write. I don’t know how many people have heard of Janelle Stone outside of the US, but that’s who is writing this journal. Yeah, it’s me. The one and only Janelle Kayleen Stone. I figure, why hide anymore? I’m not doing anything wrong. Oh, I’ve done plenty wrong, mind you—just not in a way anyone can seek legal vengeance on me for, as much as they wish they could. No one has to like or agree with anything I write, but that doesn’t mean I can’t write it. Don’t like my stuff? Then feel free to find a blog you do like. With that said, I’m sure there are some people who may hunt for and find this journal, in which case I’m not going to hide and I’m not going to stifle my freedom of expression either. No, instead I’m going to freely express whatever comes to mind. This journal will be filled with a mix of people, places, and events. Some will be positive and some won’t. I shall not allow comments as my thoughts, feelings, beliefs and experiences aren’t up for debate. For years, I was accused of trying to kill my ex-husband’s niece, who later died, and then actually killing her mother. Attacking Stephanie caused her to miscarry, and she ended up in a coma for many months before she died. Fortunately for me, something was finally on my side for once, because I had left for Montenegro a dozen or so years ago, not knowing if Stephanie would wake up and name me as her attacker. Would she have been correct? Yes, she would have been, and I make no apologies or feel any shame or guilt for attacking her. Some people really do bring on their own problems and ask for what they got, and she was one of them. So was her mother. I took such pleasure in seeing the shock and fear that registered on that bitch Ramona’s face when I snuck up behind her in the backyard right as she was heading for the back alley to dump a bag of trash in the dumpster. She dropped the bag, glared at me, and sternly asked what the fuck I was doing there. Yeah, lol, she even used the f-word she forbade others to use in the presence of family members whenever Steven and I would visit. I knew I had to act fast because I knew she would make too much noise that could draw the attention of the neighbors. Thinking quickly—or barely thinking at all, to be exact—I shoved her into the pool, knowing that she couldn’t swim. We happened to be right by the deep end too, so it worked out perfectly. She did give out a scream as she was falling into the water, but only for a few seconds. According to interview accounts I heard, no one claimed to have heard anything. They must have been at work, or maybe they had TVs, music, or sounds of their own drowning it out. She not only drowned, but the water was cold too, since it was winter and the desert can get colder than people think. The water temp was probably in the 40s. Again, no shame or guilt on my part. If anything, maybe it will set an example and serve as a reminder of what can happen when you emotionally and verbally abuse people year after year, mostly about things that are totally out of their control, like their weight and medical conditions. Maybe they’ll think twice the next time they pick on people who have been victimized as if they were the perpetrator. Yeah, maybe. More interesting content to come soon!