Revenge: A Tale of Retribution

Two years ago Edward had everything: a home, a wife named Ethel, plans for the future, hopes Now there is nothing left. The pain of loss cannot simply be endured. If he could turn back that cursed day, he would do anything to stop it from happening. If only

For the first time in two years Edward hurried back to the oppressive silence of his empty house. At last he could avenge Ethels death. He had intended to stop at the offlicense for a bottle of whisky but changed his mind. The hour of revenge was at hand, and his mind had to stay clear. He went to bed early and, surprisingly, fell asleep quickly. Two hours later he woke with his heart pounding, gasping for air. He kept dreaming of Ethel, feeling her breath beside him. He strained to hear her, hoping his eyes would snap open and see her there. But the pillow was undisturbed. He drifted back to sleep.

Edward ran his hand over the sheet. It warmed under his palm, giving a fleeting illusion that his wife had just been lying there moments before he awoke. Sleep would not return. He lay staring at the ceiling, pale in the dark, replaying memories. Two years of waiting for vengeance, of aching emptiness. The enemy had returnedEdward knew it with certainty.

On that illfated morning Ethel had asked for leave from work early. She was heading to a prenatal clinic for an ultrasound. She had been trying for a baby for years, no longer trusting the pregnancy tests. The longing for a child had become an obsession.

She stood at the edge of the pavement. On the opposite side a green pedestrian light flashed, and she stepped onto the zebra crossing first. She did not see the car barreling toward her, trying to beat the flow of pedestrians. The driver would have squeezed through if not for a cyclist speeding up from the other side. A collision was inevitable. The driver swerved to the right, sending the vehicle into Ethel. She died instantly.

The driver received a twoyear suspended sentence. The cyclist escaped with bruises. Doctors later confirmed that Ethel was not pregnant. The enemy lived on with his wife and son. Edward had nothing, no hope, no one. He had long decided to kill his foe, to strike him with the full force of his engine, to spare his own family the suffering he endured. He vowed not to hide or run away, even if it cost his own life. He had died alongside Ethel two years ago; a life spent waiting for revenge is no life at all.

Edward sometimes drove to the intersection where Ethel fell, bought fresh flowers and placed them on the curb. Passersby glanced past without a word. He stood there, trying to imagine what Ethel thought in those final secondsperhaps she hoped for good news at last. She took a last breath and stepped onto the crossing

He visited her graveside, went to the parish church, but found no solace. Only by exacting his vengeance could he feel free. Exhausted from sleepless brooding, Edward rose, took a hot shower, shaved carefully, and ate a simple toast with tea while staring at a blotch on the wall where Ethel had planned to repaper the room. He left the stain untouched; it was a fragment of memory. He slipped on a clean shirt, cast one lingering look around the empty room, and wondered if he would ever return.

At first he drifted around town, killing time. It was far too early; his enemy was still lounging in fresh sheets beside his wife, or perhaps already up, stretching, heading to the bathroom, scratching his leg just below the waist, finishing his business, yawning, then showering. His wife had already set the breakfast table. As Edward stepped out of the bathroom, scented with shower gel, he imagined the murderers smile. Enough, he muttered. The killer of my wife cannot look so handsome.

He pictured his foe the night before, having drunk heavily to make up for the lost two years. He woke with a throbbing headache and a parched throat, splashed water on his face, gulped straight from the tap as he would in a cell, and, still in his boxers and tshirt, sat at the kitchen table. Now thats proper, Edward thought. Thats the kind of enemy I could live with.

Edward turned his car toward the adversarys house. He parked in the driveway where he could see the front entrance. Two children were playing on the garden swing set. He settled in, waiting. Sooner or later the enemy would emerge, with or without his family. If not today, revenge would find him another day.

It was late April. Young buds were pushing through the hedges and the sunny side of the yard. The pavement was still damp from last nights rain. Grey clouds hung low, and a chill lingered.

A small boy, about six, burst from the back door and ran toward the swing set, but then stopped, eyeing Edwards SUV. Maybe hes the enemys son? Edward whispered, lowering his window.

What do you want, lad? Edward asked.

Nothing, the boy replied, staring unflinchingly. My dad also had a car. Not as flashy as yours.

Wheres it gone? Sold? Edward pressed, feeling a strange ease in learning about his foe.

My dad crashed it. He hasnt bought a new one yet. The boy shrugged.

Edward examined the child, trying to spot a resemblance to his target. He saw noneperhaps a likeness to the mother, a face Edward never remembered. The raindrops that fell on the windshield were the only evidence of the storm that had passed.

Want to sit in the car? Youll get wet otherwise, Edward said, opening the passenger door.

The boy hesitated a heartbeat, then climbed onto the high seat, closing the door. The rain drummed faintly against the roof. He gazed at the dashboard lights with wide eyes.

Do you have heated seats? Does it guzzle petrol? he asked, sounding oddly grownup.

Edward answered each question, feeling uneasy staying in the yard with a child. Shall we take a spin? The rains still coming down.

The boy gave Edward a skeptical look.

If you dont want that, we can just sit, Edward said aloud, though to himself he thought, What a brave kid.

My mum will be angry. I get it. The boy glanced again at Edward.

She wont have time for me, the boy added.

Edward drove away from the yard, wondering if anyone had watched. Children rarely remember car makes or licence plates. A voice from his past whispered that the best revenge is to destroy what the offender loves. The thought clicked into place, unbidden.

Whats your name? Edward asked.

Dave, the boy replied cheerfully.

Youre a namesake, Edward chuckled. Im Edward too.

He decided he would not kill the boy; the child was innocent. He could take the boy far away and leave him, but that felt no better than murder. He would let the boys father bear his own guilt. The boys sudden question broke his reverie.

What? Edward asked.

I heard my dad didnt hit the woman. My mum was driving. My dad was in the passenger seat. The boys tone was flat, but his eyes flickered with something Edward recognized.

The woman you mean Ethel? Edward felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

Yes. My dad took the blame. My mum cant stand prison. Shes ill, in hospital a lot. The boys voice trembled.

How do you know? Edward asked.

Im not a little kid. I heard them whisper. Mum even told me. The boys words hit Edward like a blow.

A sudden heat surged through him. He gripped the steering wheel with wet palms.

Why tell me this? Are you going to call the police? Edward demanded.

My dads already done time. Can you be sentenced twice for the same crime? the boy shot back.

Probably not, Edward managed a weak smile.

He hadnt realized hed driven out of town. The rainslicked road stretched ahead, marked with fresh white lines.

Where are we going? Dave asked, his voice now edged with anxiety.

Im thinking, Edward said, pulling over onto the verge, lowering his window, and breathing in the fresh, damp air. The distant hum of traffic grew louder.

You okay? Daves tone turned concerned, his eyes oddly understanding, and Edward felt a flash of shame.

Dont you see? You cant fool children or animals. What am I doing? Edward turned the engine around and headed back toward the town.

Ethel cant come back. The driver didnt hit her; her husband took the blame. Hes already paid. Who should I still hate? Her wifes own choices have condemned her. What did Dave say? Her kidney is failing. What about me? Im about to punish an innocent boy Edward muttered.

What happened to your mum? Edward asked.

My grandma looked after her. Shes got a weak heart. She never liked my mum. The boys words drifted away as the rain stopped.

How old are you? Edward asked.

Seven. Ill start school in September. Do you have kids? Edwards throat tightened. He wanted to tell the boy hed always yearned for a son, but the words stuck.

Theyre gone, Dave whispered. My dads wife killed Ethel I guess my parents are already searching for each other, maybe even called the police.

Weve arrived, Edward said as they turned into the driveway. The children hurried inside to escape the drizzle. No one ran about in panic; the house was quiet.

What were you coming to see? Dave asked, puzzling over Edwards earlier question.

What? Oh just friends. They werent home. Dave hopped out of the car.

Will you come back? Edward asked.

Well see. If I ever get a new car, maybe you could ride with me, Dave replied, pausing. Ive no son or daughter. If your dad buys a new one, take it. He wont regret it.

Thanks, goodbye, Edward said, his lips forming a thin smile.

Dave lingered at the back entrance, looked back, and Edward raised his hand. He drove away, bought a bottle of whisky from the corner shop, and sat on the riverbanks damp grass. He drank straight from the bottle; the liquid burned his gut. He lay back, staring at the sky as clouds cleared, revealing a blue expanse.

Hey, mate, you feeling alright? a hoarse voice called.

Edward opened his eyes to see two teenagers standing over him. He must have fallen asleep. He sprang to his feet and headed for his car.

Hey, want a drink? one teen shouted.

Its too early for that, Edward replied, picking up the almostfull bottle from the ground. A vulgar curse drifted behind him, but he ignored it.

He climbed into his car and drove home. For the first time in two years he felt a strange lightness.

Lord, I almost did something terrible, he whispered, thank you for sparing me. I wish I had a son Tears blurred the road ahead.

Revenge had consumed his every waking hour, turning his life into a shadow of the man he once was. In the end he realized that when you devote your existence to hurting the one who hurt you, you waste the only life you truly own. The only victory lies in letting go, not in the destruction of another.