BY KEITH EVANS
(Composed: 09/13/10)
During my unfortunate stay at Le Chateau De Lake County, I met a girl. Not just any girl, but a lady of enchanting allure. A woman who, just with one strike glare, would stir up so many emotions, your heart would change climates in an instant. Her name? Engelica Castillo. Yeah, you heard me, Engelica Castillo, or as we here in LCJ call her, The “Baby Killer”.
For those who aren’t in the know, last summer, there was a story about an adorable 3 year old infant child named Jada Justice who came up “missing” from a gas station. While her cousin slash babysitter popped inside to quickly purchase some milk and cigarettes. Mostly everyone’s immediate reaction was to question why said babysitter would leave a 3 year old in the car alone in the first place, including myself. I say this because I myself, once or twice, have left my own adorable infant strapped in her seat, at even younger ages, however only in the circumstances that my car was parked right by the door, my doors were locked, it wasn’t summer, and I was only going to the counter, therefore her only being no farther than 5 to 6 feet away and in plain sight for a maximum of 60 seconds. Now with the milk being in the back of EVERY gas station I’ve been to, and purchasing milk AND cigarettes being about a minimum 3 minute process, also considering that a 3 year old is so much easier and far more capable of being brought into a story via their own feet, I should no longer have to argue my point.
There was an immediate amber alert. People of all walks of life within the “region” were doing all they could to send out word of this “missing” child. Social networks flashed with posts of the life info there was. Newspapers updated constantly and daily with not much changing developments. I even strolled to the corner store and was greeted by a woman passing out pictures and contact info of the little one. I, myself, even saw fit to take a picture with my phone and CC it to everyone in my contact list. Every little bit helps right? Well, no, not when said cutie pie is already dead.
You see, comes to find out little Jada’s cousin/babysitter aka Engelica Castillo had a bit of a heroin habit, one she shared with her boyfriend, Timothy Tkachik. Comes to find out, babysitting, and heroin, worse yet babysitting and lack of heroin don’t mix. So, while the innocent little angel was trapped in the custody of her inevitably dope sick (shakes fist) watchers, acting like any 3 year old would, this behavior was apparently too much for the dynamic duo. After a bit of abuse, the two set out, to feed their jones no less, towards Chicago, taking little miss sunshine along. Somehow, on the way, choking a child to literal death was on the agenda. Being the very beacons of safety and awareness, Ms. Castillo and her suitor do the only responsibly thing they can muster up in their doped out brains. Rather than taking the lifeless baby corpse to say, I don’t know, the hospital, or even the authorities, they drive back towards Indiana, switch vehicles (yeah, that means leaving said dead child in prior vehicle), and head back towards Chicago to score some sweet lady H. God forbid you show up to the West Side of Chicago to cop some heroin with a DEAD BABY in your back seat, right? I mean what would Jennifer Hudson say?
~NOTE~ I realize that my tone in telling this story is severely blunt and forthcoming, almost to the point of cruelty. This is merely how I think, and if my vicious tone is the small spark that deters any junkie from killing a baby or even just quitting heroin by reading this and feeling like a piece of shit, so be it. ~END NOTE~
Apparently, upon their return Lois Lame and Super scum try to cremate the baby themselves, failing, and damn near burning off their own faces in the process. In my opinion, only a complete loser at life would fail at setting fire to a two foot lifeless being, that or a heroin addict that is. Seeing as though that didn’t work, they decide to pour cement over the small girl and dump the hardened block in the river. All this done before giving the public the bogus kidnapping story. You might be thinking “Ho, I feel sorry for the mother,” but you’d be as stupid as a heroin addict if you were. You see, the mother of poor Jada Justice fancies herself a bit of a rocket scientist as well. She is the one who asked Engelica to watch her kid for TWO WEEKS with full knowledge of Ms Castillo’s “habits”, not stopping short of paying her with, what newspapers described as, “a bag full of vicodin”. Ironically enough, the mother Melissa Swiontek was arrested during my current stay in LCJ for violating a restraining order. This is post-Castillo’s guilty verdict and pre-her inevitable second arrest for child neglect.
During her incarceration and trial, I saw Engelica a total of 5 times. 3 of these times I looked directly into her eyes as she smiled and waved at me, seemingly “checking me out”. Side note, if you thought that guys who’re locked up get overly excited when they see a female, you should see the situation reversed. It’s far worse. “The baby killer wants to fuck me” I thought, hideously to myself as a cold menacing chill ran through my spine. I’ve never been lusted after, albeit for mere seconds, by a murderer before. I think my dick might’ve actually cowered inside my pelvis for safety. Ironically enough I realize that’s where babies pretty much start, so my penis being scared to death makes perfect sense.
Another time I saw her, I was cleaning the 4th floor, the floor she was housed on for protective custody/suicide watch purposes. I peer through the glass as she sleeps; wishing she was permanently in said condition. She sleeps like a baby and I curse irony for making me smirk like that. Upon further investigation, an awful realization enters my brain. The “Baby Killer” is almost a decent 6 on a sale from 1 to 10. Nice ass, nice tits, pretty face, this waist that accent her curves in a nice way. A far cry from the heroin induced mug shot we see on TV and in the papers. Perhaps if she wasn’t such a “grim reaper of children”… ew, gross, I continue to mop.
Life without parole is her life now. Kind of bitter sweet if you ask me. On one hand, she can spend the rest of her long life thinking about what she’s done and let it eat away at her soul. Unfortunately, having your soul ate away at doesn’t hurt nearly as much as having something eat away at your flesh. The death penalty would almost be too sweet of a deal for her. I can only imagine she, at least secretly, wishes she were dead already. If I were put into a position in which I could decide punishments for crimes, here’s what I would cook up. Imagine some sort of massive, pedestal rigged stage, similar to David Blain’s human ice cube thingy he did in Times Square. Instead of an ice box, a glass box. Our lovely Engelica is naked, trapped in permanent stirrups. Everyday a small piece of her flesh is sliced off with an extremely dirty scalpel. She’s only fed the contents of diaper genies, donated by willing volunteers, when of which won’t be hard to find. A small speaker and TV monitor is positioned directly in her face, volume turned just below the level of decibels it takes to make your ears belled. What’s playing, you ask? Continuous episodes of Dora the Explorer. Actually, I retract, the same episode of Dora, over and over and over.
Unfortunately, I’m no Lord High Executioner. Maybe I should write the next SAW movie. Nah, I think I’d rather fuck the “Baby Killer”.
Editors Note:
To send Keith “Fan Mail” please write:
Keith Evans, SEC. 1E
Lake County Jail
2293 N. Main St
Crown Point, IN 46307
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