Evangeline Read Online Free

remarried.  
    Sister pulled up a chair at the keyboard and typed the words “Sex Registry” into the search bar.  She was half-expecting a barrage of pornography sites, but appearing first on the Google list was the United States Department of Justice’s National Sex Offender Registry.  The registry was a public information database of sex offenders that had done time for violent sex crimes then been released back to society. 
    A quick search revealed that the state of Nebraska was home to nearly eight hundred of these scumbags.  Holt County hosted nine, including the one in Willowdale Township who was keeping Brianna’s mom awake nights. 
    To look at his mug shot you’d never know Harland Lee Wade was a monumental piece of shit.  Just like Uncle Stumpy, the Kansas native looked like anyone you might pass on the street.  But Harland Lee wasn’t just anyone.  The forty-two year old had done seven years on a felony charge of immoral and indecent acts with a child.  When Angeline dug deeper, she uncovered a reference to Wade in a Kansas City newspaper.  The pervie had been up for early parole but the grandparents stood in the way-- and for good reason.  Their son-in-law had videotaped himself sodomizing his six year-old daughter then uploaded the footage to a pedophile website. 
    Yeah, you heard that right.  The cocksucker did that to his own kid.
    Lovely man, that Harland.
    All nine of Holt County’s registered sex offenders were “Level Threes”, which meant they were considered high risk to offend again.  This news shouldn’t surprise anyone that’s ever been assaulted by one of these rehabbed pricks.  My friends, I know something about compulsive urges, oh, yes I do.  And I can tell you there’s no cure for a hard-core pervie.  Locking them up and running them through therapy doesn’t fix the wiring.  Once they’re out, they’ll eventually follow the old urges and someone else will get brutalized.  In my opinion there’s only two ways to stop serial rapists and pedophiles.    
    Chop off their nuts or take the bastards out.
    Lucky for me, every registered sex offender in Holt County had their home address listed with a handy map showing the way.  You would have thought the state of Nebraska was encouraging me to make house calls on those bastards except for this bold-face warning: SEX OFFENDER REGISTRY INFORMATION SHALL NOT BE USED TO RETALIATE AGAINST THE REGISTRANTS, THEIR FAMILIES OR THEIR EMPLOYERS IN ANY WAY.
    Fuck that shit.
    Without fully understanding why, Angeline jotted down the names and addresses of the Holt County nine on a scrap of notebook paper then signed off the computer and left the library.  She was down the stairs and headed for her locker when she heard the sound of shoes scuffing the waxed linoleum close behind her.
    The girl’s shoulders tensed.  Sister knew what was coming next.  In a moment came the first bark, followed by a series of yips and howls.  The pack of boys trailed Angeline the length of the hallway, baying at her backside, before surrounding her at her locker.
    When she tried opening it to gather her books, a sudden hand violently slammed the door shut.  Sister held her breath and looked straight ahead.  She didn’t have to turn to know whose hand it was.   
    “G-G-G-Gottshit...” stammered a familiar voice, twisting the family name into the same stuttering mantra my sister had endured countless times before.  “G-G-G-Gottshit.”
    I had a pet name for the cruel leader of that pack.  Admittedly it was a bit coarse and unimaginative, but I thought it appropriate and to the point. 
    I called him “The Asshole”.
    Billy Quinn was a nineteen year-old senior athlete who should have graduated two years earlier.  Unfortunately for Angeline, her tormentor was held back in the seventh and ninth grades--first for skipping too many classes and then for beating the vice principal with a wooden map pointer.  This made him at least a year