The bastard Jeffrey Epstein is looking out the window while the plane is getting de-iced, murmuring quietly into his phone. I store my carry-on and get settled next to him, graciously accepting a glass of champagne from the flight attendant. I don't typically fly first class and I planned to take advantage of all the little perks. Getting my seat assigned next to one of the biggest pedophiles in the world was quite an unexpected perk. Our flight was only scheduled to be an hour, so I knew I had to work fast. Luckily the de-icing would buy me a few more minutes... He just needed to hang up his damn phone. I gather my thoughts while I sip and wait.

"Has anyone ever told you that you look like the actor Tim Williams?" I ask him immediately after he sets down his phone. He looks over at me warily, quickly sizing me up. I know what he sees and how inconsequential I must be to him. Plain looks, no makeup. My gray roots are showing and I've developed a sizable belly pouch courtesy of my four children. A woman close to 40 is simply not his type.

"But you're not," I say before he can answer. I smile conspiratorily. "I know exactly who you are. Actually, I know what you are. Too bad your private jet Lolita is in need of maintenance." I shake my head as if it's a real shame.

"Who the fuck are you?" his eyes narrow.

"Oh, just someone who knows all about you," and I wink. "I know about your disgusting island and the underage girls and the celebrities and politicians." He looks at me coldly and then calmly reaches up to push the flight attendant call button. I immediately recline my seat, wrap my sweater tightly and close my eyes. My head lolls to the side. I promptly push out a stream of drool onto my chin, my mouth agape. Bodily fluids do not scare mothers.

The attendant approaches and kindly asks how she can assist him. "This woman is harassing me and I'd like to change seats."

I'm assuming that she looks down at me as she diplomatically tells him that the flight is full and that changing seats is not possible. But she also sounds very skeptical of his claim. Good, I think. I wait a few minutes before waking up in case she is keeping an eye on me.

I raise my seat. "Unfortunately for you, I do not have narcolepsy," I sigh. He ignores me. I continue on. "Anyway, I know all about your underground network. I know the cover-ups, the lies, the presidents, the abuse, your evil bitch Ghislaine. I know -"

He cuts me off. "How do you know anything about me? You're the bitch." He's whispering but his face and demeanor are threatening. Maybe he thinks I'll pipe down a bit to match him if he's speaking softly.

"I'll leave my sources out of it. But I know more than you could imagine. And I will make sure it's all public." He looks at me blankly and I'm wondering if he believes me. So I decide to push further. I tell him some of the details I had heard from the courtroom. Sordid stuff like that sticks with you even when you'd rather forget. I tell him things that I shouldn't know, things that very few people could know in the present day. I tell him that I have the means to expose him. I tell him that I will expose him.

Unless, of course, he can help me with something small. It's no big deal, really. It will only take a minute of his time.

Can you imagine if someone who knew the future was telling you things about your life that you thought were private? Things they had no way of knowing. It would certainly be frightening. The bastard was shaken and confused. It crosses my mind that the monster sitting next to me is actually human, after all. Yet men like him are accustomed to being in control. He regards me with disdain while I play my part and smile.

For a split second, my conscience gives me pause. But then I think of his victims. I also think of my four daughters at home, ages 9, 11, 13 and 15, and how he wouldn't give a damn about them. And I know that I am doing the right thing. For us, at least...maybe not for him. I continue on, knowing that we only have a few minutes left before landing. He soon folds under my persistence. Time's up, Mr. Epstein.

"Fuck you," he practically spits as he exits the plane, elbowing me hard back into my seat. Stoic, I finally have nothing left to say to him. My job here is finished. My aching ribs are a small price to pay for what I've done.

As I leave the aircraft I reach into my pocket and feel the paper sandwiched between my fingers. I know that he won't have time to stop the check from being cashed and it won't even be a blip on his radar once the arrest is made in the next few minutes. Thanks to him, I am a quarter of a million dollars richer. Definitely not a bad day's work for a mom pushing forty.

#augustchallenge

#epstein

As the crow flies, we are mere minutes apart

Even in a car I could fly to you

I feel the sharp ache in my chest, a reminder

Of the chasm so wide it spans months

Unless you come back to me... As likely as the fall changing into the spring.

I sighed as the pee careened onto my forearm and splashed back on his jammies mid-diaper change. Slick baby feet squirmed against my grasp as the distinct odor reached my nose. I contemplated the fact that clear hot urine is better than the alternative, even if the droplets managed to cover everything.

The music pulsed as she danced and spun, drink in hand. She was aware of the crowd watching her but she was especially aware of his eyes on her. Cinderella knew the effect her silky hair and smooth skin had on people, let alone her tight ass and gorgeous face. She got by with her looks and used this advantage whenever she could, since she was usually just looking for fun anyway. People were so dumb. They would do anything for her as long as she paid a little bit of attention to them. Well, at least the men would. Most women hated her and her frumpy stepsisters were no exception. Unfortunately, they were here at the club with her tonight. The silver lining of their company was a ride home at midnight, so she slammed the rest of her vodka cranberry and motioned to Puppy Dog for another drink.

Prince Charming was enthralled by the beautiful woman dancing solo. Most of the women he knew danced with a group of girlfriends or with their date, but not this one. She was different. He had been watching her from the moment she walked in and he kept trying to make meaningful eye contact. Oh look! There it is! She wants another drink. Prince hastened to the bar and prayed that the bartender knew what she was drinking.

He mentally rehearsed what he would say to her when introducing himself. Things were already getting blurry, however. Ladies at the club were practically falling all over themselves to be with him and he simply kept drinking and turning each one away. He used to play that game quite well... He was a handsome prince, after all, but as he was now pushing thirty-five he was growing tired of the party life. Word apparently got out that the prince was looking to settle down. The women only tried harder, much to his surprise and sometimes pleasure (if he felt like it).

In his drunken haze he thought her condescending smile was interest. In her drunken haze she thought his interest was predictable and pointless. She humored him and snapped selfies together on her phone, letting his hands roam where they wanted. She knew that he was the man her stepsisters always gushed over so she turned her flirting up a notch.

She couldn't stand her stepsisters. She was always cleaning up after those slobs. They tried telling her that she had obsessive compulsive disorder but Cinderella knew that they were just pigs. She swore they created messes just for her to clean.

Puppy Dog kept watching her with his sentimental eyes and brought her yet another drink. Cinderella realized that it was almost time to catch her ride. It was a few minutes until midnight. She asked him to hold her drink while she used the restroom and that's when she made her escape. She didn't have to deal with turning him down if she snuck out. Cinderella knew it was a shitty move but she didn't care.

Prince Charming was in love. He was worried about her because she ran off without her cell phone... Something must be really wrong. Maybe one of the women who she was riding with needed help. Maybe all of the drinks were catching up with her and she was sick. He couldn't fathom why she would leave without saying goodbye.

When he woke up early the next morning, the prince was very hungover with a pounding headache. However, he immediately thought of Cinderella and decided to get out of bed to go find her instead of going back to sleep as he normally would. He was grateful that she forgot her cell phone so that he could return it to her. He remembered exquisite photos she had shown him from high above the city. There were a handful of houses in the mountains so he decided to search there first.

Several of the homes had young women who took one look at him and eagerly claimed the cell phone as theirs... But they could not unlock it with the correct passcode. He remembered that she was very beautiful but the details of her face were unclear in his mind.

When he came to Cinderella's house, her stepsisters were fighting among each other. Each claimed the phone but just like the other attempts it remained locked. Cinderella was still asleep when the prince had arrived, but with all of the commotion she went downstairs in full bitch mode, angry that she was awakened prematurely.

Prince Charming reacted with a mixture of fear and delight. Could this rude, unkempt woman be the one of his dreams? Last night had seemed surreal. His pulse quickened as he noticed her beauty despite her poor manners.

"Give me back my phone!" she barked, her voice hoarse. Her stepsisters were aghast as she unlocked the phone. Prince Charming dutifully dropped to one knee and professed his love with a marriage proposal, not quite as confident as before but still hopeful.

Cinderella's hysterical laughter felt like a slap on his cheek. 

I peered into his eyes as they glazed over and I listened as his ragged breaths slowed to a stop. My adrenaline was finally subsiding from the struggle of killing my own father. Months of meticulous planning culminated in a sloppy yet ultimately effective execution. The man who was a perfect father for half of my life had snapped into a monster after the sudden death of my mother... chaining me, beating me and raping me for years. My frustrated tears were for the murderer I had become and also for my daughter conceived by her grandfather, who deserves a life devoid of this abuse even if it means a life without a mother. My tears were for the now lifeless man who I loathed... while a peculiar part of me couldn't help but mourn the good man he used to be.