Aubrey Carlisle is a First Grade teacher. She’s also a masked, 6’2”, leather-wearing, motorcycle-riding, vengeance-driven killer of pedophiles. She finds them before the cops do. Then she calls and has them clean up.
In Aubrey Carlisle's own words, "Another night. Anoher pervert. I’ve been killing pedophiles for weeks now. You’d think I’d feel something; that all this mayhem would affect me. Taking a life is supposed to be serious business. And, yes, I’m serious about doing it. I just don’t feel bad about it. No guilt, no nightmares and no desire to stop either. The only feeling I have is a sense of accomplishment. I guess that’s something."
Excerpt
"You’re like some giant ninja who sneaks into our homes. You murder without remorse. And now you think you’re going to take my Ritchie away from me. He won’t go, you know. He won’t leave me. He loves me.” Her back was now against the wall, by a towel rack, and my back was facing the sink, about two feet from its edge.
“You have him mesmerized – a woman’s body, her attention, her affections. What little boy would say no? But why? You’re an attractive woman. You could have a real man, not some little ten year old.”
“He’s twelve.” Sullivan bit off the words. “And, as far as I’m concerned, he is a real man. As much of a man as I would ever want. I’ve loved him since he was in my fourth grade class.”
That stunned me. “You’re a teacher? You do this and you’re a teacher?”
Sullivan nodded. “Fourth grade. And phys ed coach. And self defense instructor.” With that she made her move. Sullivan lowered her shoulder and drove full-bore into me. She hit me flush in the mid-section, throwing me backward into the edge of the sink. I hit low, in my lumbar section, bruising my spine and nearly bending me in half.
I put the pain out of my mind. I lifted a knee and felt it sink deep into Sullivan’s abdomen. The woman staggered backward, but she didn’t go down.
The room was too small for my size. I couldn’t maneuver in such close quarters. Sullivan was only about five-four and wasn’t having that problem.
I moved forward, long arms reaching out, fingers grasping for Sullivan. The woman dropped low and swept a leg, taking me off my feet. I went down and smacked my head on the edge of the toilet. I actually saw stars. I could smell bleach from the floor tiles and an essence of bar soap from the nearby tub. I shook my head and placed my palms on the floor to push myself back up.
Sullivan wouldn’t let me. She raised a bare foot above my exposed back and stomped down hard. The pink and black tiles rushed up at my face, but I had enough sense of mind to roll at the same time. Sullivan was off balance; one foot on the floor and one on my back. I caught the stationery foot between my own legs as I rolled over, bringing Sullivan down to the floor.
Now close quarters were even closer. I couldn’t bring my arms in tight enough to get a grip on Sullivan. The other woman pulled herself up onto my back, wrapped an arm around my neck from behind, and squeezed.
I got my hands and knees beneath me and pushed myself into a standing position. Sullivan held on to her headlock, hanging across my back, squeezing tighter, blocking off my air passage and the blood to my brain. That combination, plus the blow to my head, made me too dizzy to remain standing. I spun around and fell backwards across the open bathtub. Sullivan’s body took the blow, with me landing on top of her.
Sullivan released her headlock and my mind cleared immediately. I scrabbled off the other woman and staggered to my feet. I knew Sullivan was hurt, but I could see in the woman’s eyes that she wasn’t done fighting. Sullivan’s hands grasped the shower door tracks for stability and kicked straight out at me with what I recognized as a striking cobra blow.
I side-stepped it, lost my footing, and slipped on the tiles. I fell hard against the shower doors and slid to my knees, caught between the tub and the toilet. Sullivan turned, allowed her body to slide along the edge of the tub, so most of her back was braced against its side. I could tell she was positioning for a second, more powerful kick. With everything but her head and neck pressed against the side of the tub, Sullivan would have increased her leg strength. The kick would be powerful.
Still in a kneeling position, I reached out and grabbed the far end of one of the shower doors. I slammed it along its track with all the strength I could summon. The edge of the door caught Sullivan on the side of the neck and moved her, along with the door, to the end of the track, up against the back wall of the tub. I heard an ugly snap and watched Sullivan’s body go limp. I slid the door away from her. The head and the body were now twisted at divergent angles.
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