Revenge

Prologue

Emily walked along the street, looking into shop windows as she passed them, not really seeing anything. She was on her way to work, only putting in six hours tonight. She’d just come from the doctor, and her husband Mark would be home tonight from a two week business trip. Emily smiled and held her hand against her stomach. She couldn’t wait to tell him the news.

Emily had an uneventful night at work. She was a waitress at a large bar. Although Mark made enough money at his job to support them both, Emily loved her job and didn’t want to give it up. She enjoyed most of the people that gathered there.

The bar was on the first floor of the town’s best hotel. It catered mostly to traveling businessmen. Emily loved talking to them, hearing about where they were from and where they were going.

She ended up staying later than she’d planned on, talking to another girl that worked there. When she finally stood to leave, it was after 11. Emily walked quickly up the street to the lot where her car was parked. Mark would be home soon if he hadn’t made it there already.

She was just slipping into the driver’s seat when rough hands pulled her from the car. She tried to scream but found her breath cut off by strong hands around her throat. Emily was dragged to the darkest corner of the lot and thrown onto the ground. Winded, trying to suck in air through her bruised and aching throat, Emily was aware of her clothes being ripped from her body.

She started struggling as hands came into contact with her bare skin. She could hear voices whispering urgently above her. She thought she recognized one of them. She forced a name through her lips, it was almost inaudible, but she heard a gasp in response to it. It was the last sound she registered as dull pain slammed through her head and her world went dark.

Two Years Later

1.

Mark suddenly sat up in bed, breathing hard, sweat dripping from his skin. He cursed under his breath and swung his legs over the side of the bed then rested his head in his hands. Another nightmare; it seemed that every time he had it the dream got a little worse, a little more real.

He finally raised his head and looked at the clock. 6 a.m., just like every other morning. Although the attack on Emily had occurred close to midnight, she had held onto life until almost 6 in the morning. The brutal beating she’d taken had been too much for her. Mark had been sitting next to her hospital bed, holding her hand, when she slipped away from him.

Mark stood and walked into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stood under water that was almost scalding, trying to wash away his bad memories.

The last two years had passed with almost dreamlike slowness. He’d quit his job, cut off his friends, lived almost entirely inside himself. He didn’t want to be touched by anything in life, not when Emily’s was taken from her.

Mark let the water run over his face and hair, closing his eyes against the spray. The police were at a dead end, no witnesses or evidence, nothing to help find Emily’s killer. Mark realized that if he wanted justice for Emily, he was going to have to find it himself.

Shutting off the shower, Mark roughly toweled off, wondering for the millionth time where exactly to start. There was a time in his life when he would have known, before he’d fallen in love with Emily. Mark had been a troublemaker, a fighter. Emily had changed him, bringing out a side of him he’d never known existed. Mark knew if he wanted to find Emily’s killer, he would have to go back to the way he used to be.

As he got dressed, he stopped to wonder if reverting to his former wild self would be a betrayal of Emily’s memory. He shook his head and buttoned up his shirt. He wanted revenge, he wanted closure. It was the only way.

Mark walked through the hallways of the hospital, searching for the medical records room. Most people stepped out of his way quickly. At almost 7 feet tall, muscular, and walking with single-minded purpose, he looked very imposing.

He finally found the room he was looking for and ducked inside. An older lady was seated at a lone desk typing frantically on a computer. Mark watched her in silence letting his features soften. He didn’t want to intimidate her too much.

She finally looked up at him. “How can I help you?” she asked, turning to face him.

Mark smile weakly. “I need copies of my wife’s medical record,” he said, sinking into the chair in front of the woman’s desk. She eyed him for a moment.

“You’re going to need written permission from your wife to look at her records. It’s hospital policy,” she said, and apology in her voice. Mark sighed.

“My wife passed away. I need the records for insurance purposes,” Mark stated. The woman’s face immediately conveyed sympathy for him.

“What’s her name and the date?” she asked him. she watched as he seemed to gather himself. He covered it well but he was hurting. She wrote down the information she needed, then hurried off to find the file.

Mark waited patiently until she came back, feeling sick at the sight of Emily’s file.

“You can use the smaller office. It has a copy machine in there,” the file clerk said, sensing his need to be alone. “Just return the file to me when you’re done.” Mark nodded and stood, heading toward the cubicle she’d pointed out. He sat at the desk and forced himself to open the file.

He felt his eyes burning as he read the account of Emily’s last hours. She’d been brought in with a skull fracture, broken ribs, internal injuries, a broken wrist, two broken fingers, and bruises and lacerations beyond counting. Death was attributed to an artery that was nicked by one of her broken ribs. She’d bled to death internally.

Mark turned the page, skimming over nursing notes. At 4 a.m., a few minutes before he’d gotten there, Emily had regained consciousness for the last time. The nurse had recorded that she’d mumbled the name Joe repeatedly for several minutes. She’d asked for Mark before falling under again. Mark wiped tears from his eyes, wishing again that he’d been there in time for her to hear him say goodbye.

He narrowed his eyes. Joe. That was a common name; there were dozens of Joe’s in this town alone. But he and Emily had been friends with only one of them. He was a place to start.

Mark was going to close the file and return it when he thought better of it. He went to the copy machine and made duplicates of everything in her file. It hurt but he had a feeling he might be needing it later. He finished quickly and left the hospital, already trying to formulate his next move.

2.

Alexandra stared at down at the gray stone that marked the head of her mother’s grave. She felt strange, as if none of this were really happening. Her stepfather stood next to her, looking dignified and somber in his black suit. He kept squeezing her hand or rubbing her shoulder. Alex took no comfort from him. He was a hell of a showman, and the funeral of his wife, her mother, was the perfect opportunity to show what a rock solid family man he was. Alex knew better; the man was just cold, not a rock but an iceberg. She had suspicions about him and her mother’s death but could do nothing about them. She knew what happened to people who crossed Eli Daniels.

The memorial service ended and Alex stood next to Eli, accepting condolences from friends and supporters. She had to keep playing the part of Eli’s daughter; it was ingrained in her since the age of nine that in public Eli was Dad. Eli had big dreams, running for governor soon then onward and upward. His public image was everything. Alex thought unkindly of the average voter, feeling sorry for a man who tragically lost his wife and offered support and comfort to a grief-stricken stepdaughter. Eli wasn’t picky; he would take the votes when and where he could get them.

Alex pushed her thoughts away, bitterly wishing her mother had never met Eli. Outwardly she went through the motions, and most of the mourners would comment that she seemed to be in shock. She was; not only had her mother been taken from her, the reason for her loss was standing not two feet from her.

Alex finally pleaded a headache and Eli graciously had his limo take her home. She went into her house and sighed with relief. No more pretending. The funeral had ended at noon, but Eli had invited everyone to his house, as a remembrance to her mother. Another chance to network, was what Alex thought of it. She’d had to stick around for the sake of appearances and it was now after midnight.

Alex kicked off her high-heeled shoes and unbuttoned her jacket as she went up the stairs. She stripped off her navy blue skirt and tossed it and the jacket onto the floor. She’d never where the outfit again.

She ran a bath and sank down into the hot water. Alex closed her eyes and images of her mother flashed through her mind. Not good images. Her mother had been forced off the road, her car flipping several times, in an ‘apparent’ incident of a drunk at his worst.

Alex scrubbed her hands over her face, willing herself to calm down. She needed to bury herself in work to get her mind off of the pain she felt, but Eli had of course nixed the idea. He told her it would be better if she took a long weekend so the public could see how deeply her mother’s passing had affected her. She hated him running her life, but after fifteen years of watching how he dealt with people who didn’t do what he wanted, Alex was afraid to balk him.

After an hour or so, Alex climbed out of the tub and dried off, feeling no better and no worse than when she’d gotten into the water. She pulled an oversized T-shirt over her head and got into bed, tired but not sleepy. She stared at the dark ceiling above her willing her mind to shut down so she could get some rest.

3.

Mark waited until that evening to call Joe. His old friend was surprised to hear from him to say the least. Mark detected something other than surprise in Joe’s voice; a slight hesitation, a tremor. “Hey,” Mark greeted when Joe picked up the phone.

“Mark?” a pause before his name. Joe seemed to gather himself. “Hey man, long time no see. How are you?”

“Dealing with it,” Mark replied. “I was wondering if you’d mind some company later on tonight.”

Another hesitation. “I don’t know Mark. I mean, are you sure you’re up to it?” Mark was frowning. Joe always jumped at the chance to get people together.

“I wouldn’t call and ask if I wasn’t up to it,” Mark tried to make it sound like a joke.

“Well, that would be great,” again the pause. “But I think I’m going to turn in early tonight. Maybe we can hook up this weekend?”

“Sure no problem,” Mark’s tone was light, but he was gripping the phone so tightly in his hand it was close to cracking. After a few more minutes of stilted conversation they both said good night. Mark was more than convinced that Joe knew something. Now he just had to go about finding out what it was.

Mark sat in his car up the street from Joe’s house, waiting patiently for some inner voice to kick in and get him going. He’s driven here after dark, and had sat waiting for more than 4 hours. Finally at 2 am, he knew it was time to move. He left the vehicle and walked up the block, making sure no one was observing him. The street was completely deserted, nothing was even moving except for him.

Mark went to the porch and peered in the window. The house was dark; Joe must have gone to bed by now. Mark jimmied the front door open with a credit card and slipped inside, closing the door noiselessly behind him. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the light, the cautiously moved through the house, heading for the bedroom in the back. He could hear Joe snoring on the other side of the closed door.

Mark waited for a minute, gathering himself in to do what he had to do. He eased the bedroom door open and silently stepped inside, moving to the side of the bed. Joe was sprawled on his back, mouth open, deep in sleep. Mark felt anger rise up in him and reached down, grabbing the front of Joe’s shirt and yanking him up. Joe snapped awake, flailing his arms and uttering a choked sound of surprise.

Mark threw the struggling man across the room, letting blind rage feed his natural strength. He’d been holding it in for two long years. Joe hit the wall with a thud, jarring a picture off the wall. It shattered on the floor, shards of glass spraying over the hard wood. Mark heard it crunch under his boots as he moved toward the groaning man on the floor. Mark kicked him in the side, then used his foot to roll Joe onto his back.

Joe lay panting on the floor, holding his shoulder, still not fully awake. Mark went across the room and grabbed a pillow off the bed, then ripped the pillow case from it. He tore it into strips and went back to Joe, who was struggling to sit up. Mark put his foot on Joe’s chest and applied pressure, pinning him to the floor. He quickly tied the strips of cloth together, then looped one end and wrapped it around Joe’s neck. Holding the free end, Mark took his foot from Joe’s chest and dragged him across the floor to the bed. The swung his end of the cloth strip around the bed rail and pulled it tight, raising Joe a few inches off the ground.

Joe started kicking, struggling against the cloth cutting off his air. Mark waited a few seconds, then relaxed his grip, smiling coldly as Joe thumped to the floor.