The Emerson home has been deserted for some time, ever since Mr. Emerson killed his daughter. The once gorgeous architecture had become nightmare fuel after it had sunk into total despair. It had been on the market for years, but nobody wanted the “Murder House”. That’s not to suggest it was without purpose. You see, in the highlands the justice system is a farce and if one were to require real justice, they came to Bridgette and her posse.
Many in town called it Mountain Justice, and if your name came up, then Bridgette’s posse would come to your door and soon you would realize just how fucked you were.
Thomas Sinclair had once been a backbone of the community, a beacon of hope for the younger generation. He was a teacher at the Middle School and even made the local paper raising money for hurricane relief. Yes, Thomas was a rising star until he decided to engage in a relationship with a fourteen-year-old child.
The relationship went on behind the back of Thomas’s southern belle of a wife, Scarlett. One night he had the girl, Harper, come over with the promise of romance. The two had been dating for several months and that night she was to lose her virginity. Scarlett was away, working at a dog food plant. Harper asked Thomas to leave his wife so that he could be with her, and it got ugly.
“I told you, it’s not appropriate. I’m not leaving my wife.”
She got emotional and in her rage she grabbed a knife and jammed it into her own broken heart. Scarlett got home early to surprise her husband with gift certificates she had won to the Mountain Kitchen Buffet, but when she opened the door to the horror in her kitchen, she did the only thing she could think of.
Thomas was the son of a senator, and it was with certainty that Judge Boswell, a relative, would let him go free. Knowing this, Scarlett called the only people she could rely on to deliver proper justice, Bridgette, and her Mountain Justice Posse.
Before he knew it, he was in chains and dragged to the abandoned home of the Emmerson. Here he would stand trial before the many townsfolk that were packed into the main living room. Serving as judge was local florist Daisy Falmouth. Bridgette approached the jury of six holding a cell phone.
“What we have here is the personal cell phone belonging to the late Harper Pine. In it I found some disturbing texts. Mr. Sinclair, in text form, asked the deceased multiple times for a, and I quote, “titty shot” to which she finally sent him a picture of her bare breasts. After reading through these messages, it becomes clear to me that Mr. Sinclair did in fact have a relationship with the young teen. He filled her head with lies. He told her they would run away to Japan together and that he would leave his wife. Then on the day of the meeting, after having sex, Mr. Sinclair informed the young, impressionable girl that he wasn’t leaving his wife. So how did she take it? She stabbed herself in the heart, and soon after Mrs. Sinclair came home early to find a crying husband standing over a naked, dead child. The evidence cannot be ignored. Mr. Sinclair has forsaken his oath to protect the children, engaged in sexual relations with a child, and caused this young girl’s suicide. That’s all that needs to be said. Case closed.”
The audience broke out in murmurs. Thomas felt his bowels drop, for he knew there was no getting out of this.
“Ok, well let’s hear from Mr. Sinclair.” Daisy motioned for the prisoner to approach the bench. He stood on unsteady legs, clearing his throat.
“This isn’t justice, the court system is. This is vigilante justice, and the lord looks down on such blasphemy.”
“The lord?” Daisy smirked “Maybe you should have considered the lord when you put your dick into a child. I have reached my verdict. Thomas Sinclair you are hereby found guilty of pedophilia, which led to the unfortunate death of one, Harper Pine. Due to the horrendous nature of the crime, we sentence you to death by Princess.”
The audience cheered as one of the mountain justice men went to a back room. Bridgette watched the little worm squirm as two men removed his pants, a third one smearing his penis with peanut butter. From the back room was the squeal of a pig. Thomas cried and begged, but it was no use.