Two years ago I had it all a wife, a home, plans for the future, a sliver of hope. Now theres nothing left, and the ache of loss refuses to ease. If I could turn back that cursed day, I would do anything to stop it from happening. If only
For the first time in two years I hurried back to the oppressive silence of the empty house on Abbey Lane. At last I could exact revenge for my wifes death. Id meant to stop at the corner shop for a few pints of whisky, but I changed my mind. The hour of reckoning had arrived; my mind needed to stay clear. I went to bed early and, surprisingly, fell asleep quickly. Two hours later I woke with my heart hammering, gulping air through my mouth. In my dream, I could still hear Emilys breathing beside me. I strained to open my eyes, hoping to see her there, but the pillow lay untouched. I slipped back into sleep.
I ran my hand over the sheet; it warmed under my palm, giving the fleeting illusion that Emily had been lying there a heartbeat before I stirred. Sleep would not return. I lay staring at the ceiling, pale in the dark, replaying the two years of waiting, yearning, and the looming vengeance. The enemy had returned I knew it for sure.
On that illfated morning Emily had taken the morning off work. Shed gone to the local health centre for an ultrasound. Shed been trying for a baby for years, no longer trusting the pregnancy tests. How long theyd hoped, how badly theyd wanted a child.
Emily stood on the pavement, ready to cross. The green walk figure lit up on the other side, and she stepped onto the zebra crossing first. She didnt see the car barreling toward her, trying to beat the tide of pedestrians. It would have missed if not for a cyclist streaking from the opposite direction. The crash was inevitable, but the driver swerved right, sending the vehicle into Emily. She died on the spot.
The driver got two years suspended sentence. Emilys life was gone. The cyclist walked away with bruises. Doctors later declared that Emily had not been pregnant.
The enemy was still out there, living with his wife and son, while I was left with nothing, no hope. Id decided long ago to kill the man whod taken my world. Id smash his car with the full force of my engine, letting his family endure what Id endured. I would not hide or run. Even if I died, Id rather that than linger in the twoyear void of waiting for revenge.
Sometimes I drove to the crossroads where Emily was killed, bought a bunch of flowers, and left them on the curb. Passersby glanced past, indifferent. I stood there and tried to imagine what Emily thought in her final second. Perhaps shed hoped for some good news, took a last breath, and stepped onto the crossing
I visited her grave, went to the parish church, but found no peace. Only when I settled the score would I be free.
Exhausted and sleepless, I rose, took a hot shower, shaved meticulously, and slowly ate a toast with tea, eyes fixed on the blotch on the wall where Emily had planned to rehang wallpaper. I left it; the stain was now part of my memory. I slipped on a clean shirt, cast one last glance at the room, and wondered if Id ever return.
At first I drifted around town, killing time. It was too early. My enemy was still lounging on fresh sheets beside his wife, or perhaps hed already risen, stretched, shuffled to the bathroom, scratching a toe just below his trousers. Hed answered natures call, yawned, then showered. His wife had breakfast ready. Id step out of the shower, smelling of soap, kiss my wife, and sit opposite my son at the table Enough, I muttered to myself. The enemy looks too decent. The man who killed my wife cant be that charming.
Now I picture the enemy the night before, drinking heavily to make up for the two lost years. He wakes with a pounding headache and a savage thirst. He splashes water on his face, gulps from the tap like a convict in his cell. He skips shaving, sits at the kitchen table in his boxers and Tshirt. Now thats proper. He deserves it, I thought, no pity.
I turned the car around and drove to the enemys house. I parked in the drive so I could watch the front door. Two children were playing on the swing set. I settled in to wait. Sooner or later the enemy would emerge, alone or with his family it didnt matter. Not today, perhaps tomorrow, revenge would find him.
It was late April. Fresh buds sprouted on hedges and trees, especially on the sunny side of the garden. The pavement was still damp from last nights rain. The sky was overcast, cool.
A sixyearold boy burst from the front door, ran toward the playground, but paused when he saw my Land Rover inching forward. Maybe hes the enemys son? I thought, lowering the window.
What do you want, lad? I asked.
Nothing, he replied, looking up at me without fear. My dad also has a car. Not as flashy as yours.
And wheres it gone now? Sold it? I asked, pleased at how easy it was to pry.
Yeah. Crashed it, havent bought a new one yet, he said.
I tried to see a resemblance to my foe in the boys face, but found none. Perhaps he took after his mother I didnt know her. I remembered the enemys features well. A few raindrops dotted the windscreen.
Want to sit in the car? Youll get wet otherwise, I offered, opening the passenger door.
He hesitated a heartbeat, then the rain intensified. He clambered onto the high seat and shut the door. The patter of rain inside was barely audible. His eyes lit up as he examined the dashboards red gauges.
Do the seats heat up? It must gulp a lot of petrol, he asked, sounding oddly grownup.
I answered every question gladly, feeling uneasy staying in the garden with a child.
Shall we go for a spin? Its still raining. I suggested.
The boy gave me a skeptical glance.
If you dont want that, we can just sit, I said aloud, thinking, What a fearless little bloke.
My mum will have a fit. I get that, he muttered, eyeing me again.
Im not staying long, I replied.
I drove out of the garden, wondering if anyone had seen us. Kids werent likely to remember car makes or plate numbers.
A thought struck me: the best revenge is to kill what the offender loves. The idea settled like a stone.
Whats your name? I asked.
Dave, the boy answered cheerfully.
Dave? So we share a name. Im David too. I smiled, though a part of me recoiled. I wont kill you, lad. Youre innocent. The enemy is one thing, the boy another. I could just drive you far away and leave you. Hell never find his son, and hell suffer.
Daves voice snapped me back.
What? I asked.
I said my dad didnt hit that woman. Mum was driving. Dad was in the passenger seat.
What woman? a cold shiver ran down my spine.
My mum, not my dad, took the blame. She couldnt stand prison. Shes ill, spends most of her time in hospital.
How do you know? I pressed.
Im not a fool. I heard them whisper. Mum even told me herself. He stared at me with wide, earnest eyes.
Heat flushed my cheeks. I clenched the steering wheel with damp palms.
Why tell me this? Are you going to call the police? I asked.
My dads already done time. Can you be charged twice for the same crime? he replied.
Probably not, I muttered, forcing a smile.
I didnt notice we had left the town. The wet road stretched ahead, lined with fresh white lines.
Where are we going? Dave asked, his voice tinged with fear.
I slowed at the roadside, rolled down the window, and breathed in the cool, moist air. The roar of passing cars grew louder.
Youre not feeling well? Daves tone turned urgent, his eyes full of understanding, and it sent another heat surge through me.
Is he really feeling anything? I thought. Kids can sense more than we think. What am I doing? I turned the car around and headed back toward the city.
Emily cant come back. The driver took the blame for his wifes sake. He served his time. Who now? I ruminated. Her kidney is failing, she wont live long. What about me? Im set on avenging an innocent boy?
Who were you with when your mum was in hospital? Dave asked.
My grandma. She has a weak heart and hates my mum. I watched the wet ribbon of asphalt disappearing as the rain eased.
How old are you? he asked.
Seven. Ill start school in September. Do you have children? I shivered at the thought of wanting a son as much as I wanted revenge.
Its just me, Dave said quietly. If your dad ever buys a new car, he could use it. He smiled weakly.
Thanks. Goodbye, I said.
Dave stepped out of the car, turned toward his block, and looked back. I lifted my hand, drove away, bought a bottle of whisky at the corner offlicence, and sat on the damp grass by the River Thames. I downed it straight from the bottle; the burn shot down my throat. I lay back, stared at the sky as clouds drifted apart, revealing a blue expanse.
Hey, old man, youll catch a cold? a hoarse voice called.
I opened my eyes to see two teenagers leaning over the car. Apparently Id fallen asleep. I sprang up, shuffled to the vehicle.
Hey, you want a drink? one of them shouted.
Its too early for that, I replied, picking up the nearly full bottle.
A string of profanity rose behind me, but I didnt turn.
I slid into the drivers seat and drove home. For the first time in two years I felt a strange, fleeting freedom.
Lord, I almost did something terrible. Thank you you saved me. I could use a son I whispered, the road blurring with tears.
Revenge, I realised, is a life spent hating another. When you chase it, you waste the only life you truly own, even if you win.
