Pristine Halo

Pristine Halo

By Gwen Hankins

Prologue

  I, Jennifer Gail Peterson, fifteen years old, stand at the edge of a Canyon, spotlighted by the night's dome of pin-points of light of a blood, orange moon. I look over my shoulders and hear the rock crunch under shoes. 

 I scoot my feet closer to the edge, hands out at my sides for balance and breaths coming in gasps.  I am so close to a rugged edged hole deeper and wider than I could have imagined.

Kree said we could get free of Gilbert James Madison If enough people told our story and the serial killer was dead. I wanted to be free. In my own body. Just me and Kree. It had to be possible!

I look down and my heart catches in my chest. The canyon is vast and fathomless. Rain drops startle me, and I look up at the sherbet sky of blues and blacks and cherry red. The colors created by a sun almost set, and the rays passing through the dust of a parched desert.    It's also Kree. He is waiting for me. I smile.

 Cool rain drops fall from a cloudless sky and feel like Kree's thumbs are gently wiping away the  the hot tears spilling onto my cheeks. I peer over the precipice, searching for the bottom at the black depth of the canyon. And I cannot see it.

It is not the first time I cannot see what is right before me. Yet, this time I know that the hard, rock bottom of this deep, deep canyon is my destiny.

 I am a unwitting, "star" witness for the prosecution against Gilbert James Madison. I was to testify about what I saw; the horrors he inflicted on five of the nine victims, all teen girls, and their evetual deaths at his hand.. My testimony was to be heard by a court of law; a jury of his peers-- not mine. Me and Kree we're different though I didn't know it at first.

 I only saw what Gilbert James Madison did. How I was able to do that or why it happened no medical specialist figured out. First I get the sensation of falling and then I am "there". Whereever Gilbert James Madison is holding his victim. I can hear, smell, touch, and speak and yet I am but a hologram of sorts; powerless to stop the murders. The wierd thing is Gilbert James Madison does not seem to hear or see me. The only advantage I have and the authorities were using me to catch him.

When the detectives did get to the basement lauundry Gilbert James Madison had held the girl, the monster killer disappeared. But they kept me, to locate two new missing girls and a key witness against him as soon as he was captured and charged.

After the last poor girl, I knew if the killings were going to stop; If Gilbert Madison was to be stopped. Only I could stop him because he did not know I existed. So I can't wait. I can stop him. I can't watch another death helplessly and the authorities seem helpless to catch him. So, my testimony will never be heard by a jury of civilized, law abiding citizens.

The wind rises and billows from the void of the canyon and lifts my hair in harrowing strands of golden silk that reflect the glowing dark orange moon. My skin prickles and I close my eyes. I feel the presence of Gilbert James Madison. He has joined me as expected, but I don’t want to see him.

The familiar stench of his oily hairdressing and breath feels like a hornet crawling up my nose. It bites. It hurts. He completely shrouds me with his heavy weight. I must be more cunning, more adept than he before his sheer strength prevents me from physically taking him over the cliff’s side to his sure death.

I will fall with him by consequence.

He is hungry now, and he is seeking a victim for his banquet. His weight and force pressing me down almost to my knees, but I stand up. I can sense his panic. One of his gasoline smelling hands slides down my arm and catches my wrist. His other burly arm, bent at the elbow, catches me in a head lock that chokes off my breath.  

 This is it.

This is the time.    

 I kneel suddenly and rip and roll his enormous weight in front of me. . His booted feet fight for a toe hold on the defined, edge of the red slatethat lined the canyon edge . I push my shoulders into his body. I am a bulldozer of merciless justice.

He swings his arms widely, and back steps onto air and begins to drop waving his arms and legs and emitting a horrific scream.

I did it! I rejoice! No more nightmares for me. No more murders and suffering!  I raise my fist to the air and howl my righteious victory. Yet, I notice my body is in a spiraling downward motion. Of course I knew I had I followed him off the side of the precipice. There was no other way. I am a vigilante of one because I knew his habits, and I was traumatized and dehumanized by being an unwilling witness to his crimes.  He didn't know I existed.

The sensation of falling is somehow closure and almost comforting like a warm blanket from the dryer on a cold day.  I know my nightmares will stop. And the murders will stop. I am aware of the displaced air as it  pushes against my body and I fall through it.  Images of horror pass through my mind, faces of girls lost to their families A fresh breeze just as sweet and soft after a spring rain passed through me.

 I am clean. I can rest. I am free.

His other victims are no longer his debased "trophies", but transformed into the loved daughters and are beautiful like peonies and roses and cherry trees in spring blossom. The ugliness and the filth of the serial killer, Gilbert James Madison, is dissipating  into a mist that evaporates and I continue to fall.  I hit a, jutting rock as we rapidly and awkwardly spin towards the bottom of the canyon. Unbelievably, there is no pain. Just relief.

 It’s over.

My name is Jennifer Gail Peterson. I am fifteen years old, and I took the life of a serial killer. In that effort, I lost my life as well.

I love Diet Coke ™, my cell phone and my music and the color pink.

Please don’t forget me. Tell my story. Yes,  tell my story. There is no one else to talk for me. And it might not be much, but Kree mentioned that if enough my story is told and retold, I might get to come back as me! Just me! So, read on, please. Tell your friends, I'm just like them! I have my learner's permit and I want to get my drivers' licence. Yet even if my story is not told and retold enough, so I can be a fifteen-year-old girl again.I can love Kree. I stopped the monster. I can't believe I did, but our  plan worked. Me and Kree.

I must warn you that the story you tell won't be an easy one. But if you dare and you can tell my story, well, our story, Kree and I will live again. It's happing we can feel it!