Welcome, dear reader!
We enter into the dark world of vengeance, greed and wickedness for this one. Buckle up and let’s ride along on this tale of a desire for vengeance and its consequences…
“Good evening, honey!” Barry Evan called out as he entered the living room of House No. B9 of Harrow Estates. Home to him, his lovely wife, Barbara, and his two little boys, although they were with their maternal grandmother that night. Another busy day had come to an end, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than returning home to her.
“Good evening, darling. Have a good day?” she asked as she took his briefcase and placed it on the floor next to his favourite sofa in the living room, adjacent to the 75-inch curved TV on the wall.
“Yeah, it’s been good. Another day of seeking personalities for endorsement deals. We’re getting there. How about you?”
“Yes ooo. The normal day…”
As he received a long update from his wife on her day’s events, Barry smiled, following her to their spacious, state-of-the-art kitchen and listening to which customer annoyed her that day, which sweet-looking family she took notice of, and which of her subordinates slacked or performed admirably on the day. She always had tales for him, and today was no different, as she filled him in on customers who raised hell after waiting for ten minutes, among other things.
The life of a junior restaurant supervisor at Forester Café.
Twenty minutes later, the two were at the dining table, wolfing down some food Barbara brought back from her workplace, as he in turn gave her his rundown of the day’s events.
After listening and nodding to his extended version of the day’s happenings, her face took on a serious expression, and she then asked.
“So Barry, still, he’s been…”
Knowing exactly what she was asking about, Barry shook his head. “Still ooo. It’s just unbelievable, chale. I can even try right now for you if you like.”
He took out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, found the contact he was looking for, pressed the call button and the speaker icon, and held up the phone for Barbara to see.
On the third ring, the automated voice interrupted: The number you are calling is busy. Please call back later. The number you are calling is busy. Please call back later.
He put down the phone, shaking his head.
Barbara also shook her head. “Ei! Hmmmm. So after all you did for this man? Now, this is how he repays you?”
“Barbs, I’ve been asking myself this question so many times. And it still amazes me.”
“Hmmm. The ungrateful nature of human beings. It’s amazing. When they need help, they’re as humble as can be and will lie on the floor just to get your help. But after the help comes, they don’t even acknowledge you.”
“It still shocks me. See how he was blowing up my phone on the regular back then. Now di33, I’ve become a nuisance. Herh, Barbara, see eh, I’ve really learned my lesson. I really have. Going out of my way to help people like that? Never again, Barbara. Never again. If it won’t hurt me too much to do it, no problem. But something like this? Never again.”
***
It was in the dark of night. At about 12:51 am.
Lying on their matrimonial bed, Barry had his eyes wide open while Barbara peacefully slumbered.
He took in a deep breath and sighed. Those annoying intermittent sleep patterns. Always deprived him of the chance to have a really good night’s sleep. They had only retired to bed at 11:00, and he was so sure he’d get at least three to four uninterrupted hours in dreamland. But nope.
He got up from his bed, causing his sleeping wife to stir. “Honey?” she murmured.
“Just getting myself some water from the dispenser,” he responded gently as he took his bottle from the side table and headed downstairs for the living room.
As he arrived there and began to fetch the water into his bottle, he shook his head as he remembered the last conversation he and his wife had had at the dining table.
He muttered to himself.
“Hmm! Human beings. After being good to them, they turn their back on you. As for me, this is the end. I’m not joking! Never again…”
He was silenced by a sudden sound.
A loud bang at the door.
He jumped back in fright, the bottle falling from his hand as he stared at the door, muscles all tensed up, with his heart rate suddenly in overdrive. What the hell was that?
“Barry, what was that?” an alarmed Barbara called from the bedroom.
Before he could answer, another bang came through, sending the door crashing down. Before him now, stood two men, all clad in black, with one holding what looked like a hydraulic jack. Most likely the tool used to break down the door.
Terror would have been an understatement to describe the emotion that gripped his being. Having never experienced any serious robbery before, this was beyond frightening. Frozen to the very spot where he stood, unable to speak as his alarmed wife called out to him from upstairs, his mind scanned between numerous options.
“Should I cry out for help? Should I go down on my knees and surrender? Should I fight back? What if they hit me with that jack…”
As he scrambled to process which option would be the wisest, the robber with free hands stepped quickly towards him. He lifted up his hands, anticipating some form of abuse.
And abuse the man did inflict on him, as he shoved down his lifted hands and punched him square in the face.
***
Barbara stepped into the living room just in time to see her husband fall from the impact of that punch. Her eyes widened in horror as the two masked men before her proceeded to kick Barry mercilessly. She opened up her mouth and screamed.
The one who had held the hydraulic jack looked at her, then pulled out a gun, aiming at a vase on the table she stood next to. With frightening precision, he pulled the trigger.
The vase immediately shattered into a million pieces.
Barbara immediately sucked her breath in, the scream lost as she sank to the floor.
“You keep your fucking mouth shut, woman, or this next bullet is going right through your brain!” he roared at her before turning his attention to the now-wounded Barry and continuing to stamp his seemingly heavy Timberland boots right on his lower back.
For the next two minutes, a stricken Barbara could only watch on in horror as these men pummeled her husband with a gruesome ferocity, whimpering pitifully as she heard her poor husband’s cries for help.
Nothing could prepare her for the end, however, as the gun-toting guy lifted the hydraulic jack, and raised it well above his head…
…and slammed it right on Barry’s back.
The living room was filled with the screams of the Evan couple. A scream of pain from Barry, and a screech of horror from his wife.
The other guy took out his gun and pointed it at her. Her hands quickly flew towards her mouth, stifling her cries as she trembled, the bullet’s trajectory seeming to aim right between her eyes.
For a few seconds, he held that posture. Satisfied that she would stay quiet, he put the gun down. He and his partner then turned to Barry, who was on the verge of passing out, too overwhelmed by the blinding pain.
“When he told you to leave him alone, you thought he was joking, didn’t you?” he sneered.
“Next time, learn sense. And leave people alone when they tell you to. Foolish man!” the other spat.
With that, they moved out of the living room, with the main aggressor taking aim at the water dispenser and letting a bullet fly, causing a wet mess all over the floor.
It had been about four minutes, but goodness, it felt like an eternity.
They had not touched a single item in the house. All they had come to do was to pummel poor Barry into unconsciousness. It was crystal clear that they were no armed robbers, but thugs sent on a mission to hurt him. Those last statements of theirs made that crystal clear.
But that was not the time to be thinking about such.
Legs wobbling uncontrollably as she tried to stand to her feet, her eyes were on her husband, who now lay face down.
She scampered over to his side, the scream that had lodged itself within her throat breaking free as she wailed with rabid desperation.
“HELP! PLEASE, HELP! MY HUSBAND IS DYING! PLEASE, SOMEBODY, HELP ME!!”
***
Sitting before the desk of Doctor Patrick Quaye, about forty-eight hours after the brutal attack on Barry, the case of the trembles gripped Barbara’s body as she looked at his face. The hesitant expression written all over his brow made it obvious all was not well.
“Please, Doctor, just say it. I need to know what’s wrong with my husband. I hate being kept in suspense,” Barbara pleaded, already on the edge of her seat in fear.
Dr. Quaye bowed his head slightly, and then said, “Mrs. Evan, your husband suffered a serious injury to his lower spinal cord. With the report you gave, that hydraulic jack they used must have been really huge because the impact it made was very serious. If I should be specific about the positions, the lumbar and sacral regions of the spinal canal. Now injury to those regions usually affects the lower part of the body, from the waist downwards. And this is the unpleasant part. We have the ‘complete’ and ‘incomplete’ injuries. With the complete injury, it’s usually permanent. There’s normally a five percent chance of full recovery. And Mrs. Evan, that, unfortunately, is the extent of your husband’s injury.”
By the time he was done, Barbara had turned pale. Her lips were moving, but nothing was coming out. After a few tries, she barely whispered, “You mean…”
Dr. Quaye took off his spectacles and nodded sadly. “Yes, Madam. I’m really, really sorry. We did all we could, we put our hearts into it, but it seems your husband may never walk again.”
***
“Barry?”
He looked up from his wheelchair, a glum expression on his face.
He looked away from the window, where he was located. The only sight available to him was the blue Toyota Avanza and their big white gate.
“Barry, are you okay? Something wrong?”
Nope! I’m not okay! He thought to himself, wishing he could let it out.
But he decided not to. The message he had received was one that would cause his temper to fly through the roof. And for the past fifteen years, since losing his ability to walk, Barbara had had to bear the brunt of his newly found temper, which often made for screaming matches, uncomfortable atmospheres, and subsequent apologies. He had now grown tired of doing that; nothing was solved by screaming his head off at Barbara. It wasn’t like she was responsible for anything that had happened to him. She was also doing her very best to help out, and this just wasn’t the right time.
So he shook his head and said, “Nope. Nothing’s wrong.”
“Alright, then. I just want to let you know I’m boiling your water for you.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
She nodded and quietly walked away as he returned to staring out of the window.
The message flashed through his brain…
Sorry, Mr. Evan. There’s nothing we can do to help you. It’s been fifteen years now. I think you should just forgive and forget and move on.
He sighed and took a couple of quick breaths.
Easy for him to say, considering he wasn’t the one stuck to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Stupid man!
Ever since that day when those thugs – thugs he and Barbara knew were sent by that slimy, ungrateful bastard – barged in and caused substantial damage to his nervous system, he woke up every morning wishing he would actually wake up, hop out of bed and do his normal work just as he used to. But it never happened.
This was no illusion. This was no dream. This was no alternative universe in which he found himself inexplicably stuck, this was reality.
And this man just wanted him to forgive and forget about it? Really?
Well, he could go to hell!
The slimy, ungrateful bastard was back in town, and if there was anything Barry wanted, it wasn’t forgiveness and reconciliation.
Not at all.
Well, that’s quite a start! I wonder who sent those thugs to beat Barry up so bad, and why…
