[short story] [NSFW] An Eye for an Eye

This story contains very disturbing ideas and cuss words. Don’t read it if very disturbing ideas and cuss words bother you.

AN EYE FOR AN EYE
By David Weeks 9/9/16

I watched him.

I watched him move through the hardware store, oblivious to my unblinking stare. I watched him carry his project supplies out to his truck, whistling and happy. I offered to help him load the wood in his truck, and then grabbed his arm, shoving the needle home before he had time to react.

I watched his eyes reflect the confusion and panic that was flooding his mind, then I felt him go weak and pass out. I loaded him into the back of my car, looked around to make sure we were unseen, and drove off. I was sweating badly and my hands were shaking, but I didn’t hesitate, I followed the plan, driving him out to the old farmhouse, carrying his body to the basement, and setting things up.

An hour later, he woke up, and I watched his eyes go from confusion to terror. He was naked, strapped to a metal army bunk – just the springs, no mattress. The zip ties on his wrists, elbows, ankles and knees made sure he wouldn’t be able to move, while the duct tape across his mouth made sure he wouldn’t be able to talk. I wasn’t sure I could go through with it if he could have talked to me along the way.

I sat down in front of him and pulled out the photo album. I had looked through this photo album every day for 5 years. Today he would look through it with me.

I held up the first page, showing him the baby picture. “This is my only child, my son, Martin,” I said. I had rehearsed this speech every day for the past 4 years. I began turning the pages, talking to each picture without ever looking away from his eyes.

“This is Martin taking his first step. This is his first day of kindergarten. This is his first little league game.” Suddenly the pictures changed. They were no longer an innocent boy growing up in front of the camera, they were newspaper clippings about a missing child.

“This is the last picture I ever took of Martin. This was the one we used in the papers, the one the police passed around.” More newspaper pictures, and finally the body of the boy, no longer alive, no longer innocent. “This is Martin the night before we buried him. He doesn’t look good because they had to use so much makeup to cover up the wounds. His mother insisted on an open casket though. She needed… closure.”

I set the book down and looked at the floor as I took a deep breath and set my resolve for the next phase of the plan.

As I raised my head and looked him in the eyes again, I spoke again. “Your name is Sean Holms. You live at 205 South Ivey. You were born on July 17th, 1987.” I watched his eyes. So many emotions running around in his head. Now he knew this wasn’t random, it wasn’t chance. He wasn’t here because I wanted someone here, he was here because I wanted him here.

“My son was taken from me 5 years ago. We were in the Lowe’s up on Elder Lane. I got distracted for just a couple of minutes while he wondered off. Then he was gone. Two days later his body was found. Evidence indicated that he’d been kept alive for 31 hours. During that time, he was tortured, and repeatedly raped. After 31 hours of it he was finally allowed to die.”

I stood up and started pacing as he started frantically shaking his head.

“The police looked for the killer, but there was nothing to go on. After a few months, they had more pressing matters, they focused elsewhere. After a year, they declared it a cold case and moved on. They told his mother and I that we should move on too. They said that sometimes bad things happen to good people, to innocent people. They said that time would heal, and we should try to get on with our lives.”
I sat back on the stool, already weary, but so far to go.

“My wife moved on with a bottle of vodka and a bottle of Xanax. I got to find her body myself. It didn’t matter. She’d been dead inside since Martin’s funeral. I made myself a promise that day. I would spend every dollar I had, every minute of my life, and I would get my revenge. An eye for an eye, Sean. I would get my revenge.”

He was frantically shaking his head now, and had I removed the tape he would have told me it wasn’t him. He would have pleaded with me to believe him, to let him go. That’s why the tape was there, so I wouldn’t be tempted.

“After almost 5 years of searching, I finally solved the case. I finally found the man responsible for my son’s death. An eye for an eye, Sean. An eye for an eye.”

I stood up and retrieved the dildo from the shelf beside the bed. He just kept shaking his head and trying to talk through the tape.

As I slowly walked around the bed, I pointed to the watch on his left wrist and said, “you might want to keep an eye on the time. Thirty-one hours.”

I hated it. I hated every second of it. But I did it. I brutally raped him three times with the massive dildo. I hit him in the places where Martin was bruised, and I cut him in the places where martin had been cut.

The entire time he was crying behind the tape, shaking his head no, trying every way possible to tell me he didn’t kill my son, that I had the wrong guy. But the tape stayed strong, as did I.

When the thirty-one hours had passed I honestly think I was almost as relieved as he was. I could see the defeat in his eyes. I’m not sure he even wanted to live any longer, he just wanted it to end. For a moment, I felt pity, then I thought about how Martin had probably felt that same defeat, and it gave me the strength to finish it.

“It’s almost over, Sean. As I told you, I vowed to get my revenge. An eye for an eye. In a moment, you will die just like Martin died. Sometimes bad things happen to good people, to innocent people. But in death, Sean, you do get one blessing I don’t. It will be over for you. You won’t have to endure the pain of memories. You won’t have to carry this moment with you for the rest of your life. You won’t have to endure the nightmares… those fucking nightmares. You won’t have to know what it’s like to be a father, knowing this happened to your son, and you couldn’t stop it.”

I flipped the light switch that turned on the light in the next room. The wall behind me seemed to glow. What Sean had thought was a plain wall was now exposed to be a wall of glass. Sitting on the other side of the glass blocks, strapped to a chair and watching for the last 31 hours was Sean’s dad, the man who had killed my son.

I picked up the knife from the table, and walked over to Sean. I looked his father in the eye as I pulled Sean’s head back and sliced his carotid artery. It took longer than I would have guessed, but I stared at the man in the chair until Sean was finished. When Sean’s body was finally still and quiet, I walked over to the wall, dropped the knife, and stared at the broken man in the chair.

“An eye for an eye,” I finally said.