1She worked at Shelter, a bar on the strip, tending Thursdays and weekends. The regulars loved her. But lately something very unsettling had worked its way into her little life. Its name was Robert - Robert Zemski. The first time she saw It, Its face tore through her memories until finally she found where it fit: hovering over her laughing. It was the stranger responsible for murdering her mother. It was the one who'd stolen her innocence, the innocence she'd only possessed for all of five years. It'd only know her as Camille Baker. It'd only know her as a child.
As if this wasn't enough, It had a fondness for Cammie. It liked her blue eyes, they reminded It of Its mother. The painful irony rekindled the hate she'd held so long. Throughout her teenage years she had masked it as rebellion, but the fire of anger always resided within her breast, in a spot that had been reserved for her mother. After It had taken her away from Camille, she filled the void with hatred. But this time, she wielded the rage. A sly smile crept across her lips.
It liked to come in on Thursdays, after the crowd died down to have a whiskey or two. It always flirted with Cammie, as if It somehow knew. It played a quiet game, and this ripped Cammie apart inside. She knew Its irony and played along. One night though, It went too far.
"I notice you always leave alone," Its words caught her off guard, "would you like to come with me to get breakfast sometime?"
"I didn't know you were so interested," she forced a smile, "but I'm never hungry after work anyway."
Cammie knew she'd have to act fast. It was already noticing patterns and trying to get her to Itself. Then the idea came to her like she was fated to carrying it out. Though the plan was so trite and obvious, it was genius.
Cammie fastened her mothers pearls around her neck. Looking in her mirror she tried erasing the helpless little girl. After tonight, she most certainly would not be the helpless one.
It came in around three, like always and sat down on the stool third to the left, like always. "How are you tonight sweetie?" It asked with a tired smile.
"Oh, I'm all right. The usual?" she tried not to seem too eager to serve It.
It nodded and she went about preparing Its drink. A little ice, a sprinkle of the rat poison she'd gotten from a neighbor...and the whiskey It craved. That night It must have been stressed, because It ordered five drinks, not the usual three. Cammie felt obliged to make each a little stronger than the last.
They knocked at her door around quarter to six in the morning. Something about a murder, a wife had found her husband's body lying cold next to her. They brought her in, and Cammie remained calm. She kept her cool through the questioning until they put the picture in front of her. His name was and had always been Thomas Roberts. Everyone called him Rob though. Panicked washed over her, and the blood drained from her face. The detectives must have noticed her reaction because they immediately booked her.
The trial went fast. Though she never confessed, they found the neighbor who had helped her with her rat problem. She barely heard the verdict through the numb bubble she had enclosed herself in. As they lead her back to the containment cell she couldn't conceive the fact she had been wrong.
She arrived on a Thursday to the high-security prison. The cell was cold and the hall was noisy, but she liked the way the sun came in through the bars. She spent most of the day lying on the floor in the shadows of the bars. Around sometime in the late afternoon, she heard the guards talking. "Yeah, there's a new one in 5, real pretty girl." one guard said.
"Really? Probably just one more bitch to yell at me that her blanket doesn't keep her warm enough."she heard a second guard respond.
They laughed, then she heard footsteps approaching her. She saw the boots and her gaze slowly ascended his face. With this he said slowly, "Hello Camille Baker. Fancy meeting you here, my how you've grown!"