Vengeance is Mine – Part III (Rated ‘R’)

“Matt,” he said, walking to the door, where he looked out the window for a couple seconds, nodded to someone, and then turned back to face me, “can we talk now?” He leaned against the doorjamb, eased his hands into his pockets, and then stood there with his legs crossed at the ankles, waiting for me to respond.

“Sure, Reverend,” I responded, still reclining against the yellowed, brick wall. Crossing my arms, I looked over to the nightstand where I noticed that he had placed the book face-down on the nightstand. Leaning over to right it, I continued, “Yeah, we can talk now,” I said, after clearing my throat. “Where’d you like to start?”

Without even pausing to think, he said, “Why don’t we start with why ya shot that man.”

“I thought you came here to talk about God?” I tossed back.

“Well, I did, but I tried that already and it didn’t work out too well,” he said, shifting onto his other foot, looking past me at the wall, “so this time, I wanna start with why you shot the guy…and then maybe we’ll try to bring God into it again.”

“Ok,” I started, “Why did I shoot him? Because he needed to be shot, that’s why. He was a murderer and he deserved it. And besides…I just snapped…remember? The witnesses and the newspapers and the shrinks all agreed that I just snapped. So, I must have ‘just snapped.’” I smiled at him, fixing his blue-gray eyes until he slid them from mine and sought the inanimate comfort of the nightstand and the red chair.

“I don’t believe ya,” he said, while he walked over to his seat, drew it a foot closer to the wall behind him, and then sat down. Adjusting his shirt, and then his belt, he leaned closer to me and said, almost in a whisper, “I just don’t believe ya, that’s all.”

“And that’s your prerogative,” I snapped, sitting upright again, quickly, “You don’t have to believe me.”

“The way you’ve been talkin’ here makes me wonder if ya really ‘just snapped.’ You’re mad and ragin’ one minute, sad and almost cryin’ the next minute, and then mad again…I wonder if ya didn’t do it on purpose. Anyway… will ya tell me how ya knew him…yes, or no?”

“I don’t know if I should,” I said, as I got up and walked to the door. “You’re certified as a counselor by the state, aren’t you? I mean, in order to be employed by the department as a counselor, you’ve got to be certified, right?” Looking out the window, I saw the deputy in the control room and hoped that he’d be coming to the door to tell the Reverend that he needed to leave soon.

“Well, yeah,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “I have something called a CPC certification with the state that says I’m a professional counselor.”

“In addition to being a minister, or a reverend,” I said to the window, “right?”

“Yeah.”

“So everything we talk about stays right here… and you can’t talk about it with anyone else, right?” I turned to face him and fixed his eyes again.

“Right,” he almost stammered, “Why do ya ask?”

“Because I need to talk about it…I need to be able to purge what’s inside…unburden my soul…let it all out…right?” I said, smiling at him, “Isn’t that what you said?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Well, fine then…I’ll talk with you…and it doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Okay….”

I walked the few steps back to the bunk, kicked-off the pink flip-flops, slid up next to the wall and crossed my legs Indian-style. I folded my hands and leaned forward to place my forearms on my knees, and staring straight into his eyes again, I started to talk. “Alright…I knew the guy from a call I went out on last March. It was a domestic violence call and things were pretty messed-up in the house when we got there. The place looked like shit, garbage everywhere – holes in the walls, the light fixtures had been ripped from the living room ceiling, and the bedroom doors had been torn from their hinges. Crappy diapers and dirty dishes were laying everywhere. The guy had been beating his girlfriend and throwing the kids around…three kids in the house and none of them were his. This fucker was about five-eleven and weighed close to one-seventy-five…not really big, but wiry and strong in a dangerous kinda way. He’d been gone for three days doing meth and came home to get some money from the girlfriend and she was givin’ him shit for being gone so long. Like I said, the kids weren’t his and they were yelling and screaming…scared of him…you know? He’s pissed-off and starts destroying the place. The neighbors said he was yelling that ‘the fuckin’ kids are always screaming and can’t she make them shut up’…an’ it never seems to end with them. Anyway, we got there and tried to calm everyone down…my partner took the guy outside and one of the other officers took the girlfriend and a couple of the kids into the family-room and tried to get the girlfriend’s side of the story. I was sitting in the living-room with the youngest one watching Tele-tubbies and Barnie videos…the baby was about eighteen-months-old…didn’t deserve to live in shit like that….”

“So, it upsetcha….”

“Yeah, it upset me,” I said, as I stared at the yellowed bricks behind the Reverend’s head, “…but it was ok…things would be alright there. We’d take the guy away and maybe things would turn out ok…it didn’t usually happen that way…but maybe this time it would.”

“Why this time?” the old man said, leaning his head sideways, trying to connect with my eyes.

“Because maybe it was due. Maybe it was over-due,” I said, scooting off the bunk and standing-up again. “It can’t be shitty all the time, so maybe this time it would turn-out alright.” I walked to the door and looked out the window again. “Maybe your God would see fit to have the girlfriend press charges this time and we’d be able to lock the guy up and she and the kids would be safe.”

“And…?” he asked, looking down at the ring he was spinning around his finger again.

“She just wanted him to leave the house…first she was mad that he wasn’t there and then she just wanted him to leave…for the night. So we took him to a friend’s house, didn’t make a report, didn’t file any charges…just took him away,” I said, still looking out the window.

Looking at the back of my head, the minister asked, “And whadya think about that?”

“I figured we’d be back again anyway, in spite of what I hoped…” I said, turning around, but looking past him, “I thought…”

“What?”

“I thought it was going to be the same as it always is…this shit never ends…it’s all fucked-up,” I whispered, “…and we’ll be back.”

“And were ya?” he asked, looking for my eyes again.

“Oh yeah…about a week later…” I stared at him, “this time he was hitting the kids…and literally throwing the little one across the room. Said it would never shut-up…always crying…following the girlfriend around the house crying…and it just wouldn’t stop. We took him to the station this time and booked him for child abuse…but since the kid’s injuries weren’t life threatening, the bond wasn’t set very high and he managed to make bail within a couple days. And then we were called out there again….

“Ya don’t have to go on if ya don’t want to,” the older man said, getting up and standing next to the nightstand.

“Right,” I glared, “…and it was Sunday. I was off-duty and doing a five-oh-eight detail for the church around the corner from their house….”

“A five-oh-eight detail?”

“Yeah, you know, traffic control,” I snapped, “…anyway, I’m waiting for church to let out and my radio goes off with the hot-tone and dispatch says there’s a drowning at an address right around the corner…yeah,” I said, staring at the space between the old man’s eyes, “…at their house. I’m the first one there and no-one else knows CPR…so I start it…on this same eighteen-month-old baby that I was watching Tele-Tubbies with a couple weeks earlier…doing fuckin’ CPR on him….”

“And where was the mom and her boyfriend?”

“Mom was there freakin’ out, almost fell into the pool herself, and the boyfriend was standing in the background with a beer in his hand trying to look all sad and shit. He would watch me and then look toward the back of the yard. I glanced up at him a couple times, standing there in his thin, worn-out t-shirt that had yellow rings under the arms, wearing tight, faded blue- jeans that had holes in the knees and were frayed at the bottom, holding his goddamned beer, tapping the side of the can with his middle finger as I was hunched over this baby trying to make him breathe…I hated the guy…I FUCKING HATED HIM!,” I yelled. “I blew two times into the baby’s mouth…and then did five chest compressions…and two breaths…and five compressions…and Fire got there pretty soon and I was able to stop…and I was hating that mother-fucker with every ounce of my being…and crying…and clenching my fists…and wanting with all my soul to shoot that fucker in the face for killing the baby…and hating YOUR God in his FUCKING heaven for being a lousy, piece-of-shit protector for this baby…where was the baby’s goddamned guardian angel? They said nobody had been in the back yard for months…the guy wandered out there to look at how green the pool was and the baby must have followed him out there…RIGHT! The baby is going to follow him out into the back yard…and the plastic toys in the pool? ‘Oh, they were left there from the summer.’ “BULL-FUCKING-SHIT!” I screamed, “…there were no algae marks on them from where they had been floating there for months…they weren’t faded and cracked from the fucking sun, and there were fucking beer cans all alongside the pool…with beer in them…the same kind that mother-fucker was holding as he stood there watching me do CPR on the baby….”

“Matt,” the old man said, trying to soothe me, “…God is in control of everything….” Walking over to me, reaching out a tentative hand, he said, “He isn’t going to allow…”

“You are SO full of shit!” I said, turning away, “God isn’t in control of a FUCKING thing! Are you blind…are you fucking stupid…are you even listening to anything I’ve been saying to you!!?? Shut the fuck up and get out of here!”

“But, Matt…,” he said, pleading, “Matt…please….”

“Get the FUCK out of here and take your FREAKING God with you!

“So, you didn’t just snap…you meant to kill him all along…Matt…?”

I turned around, walked over to him and got right into his face, “You’re goddamned right!” I whispered. “I meant to do it! I wanted to scream with joy as the bullets tore through his chest! ‘There, mother-fucker,” I still whispered, “how do you like that?!’”

“But…but, the Bible tells us in Romans that…‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord’…”

“Yeah…well God is DEAD…so vengeance is MINE!”

 

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8 responses

  1. The darkness that encompasses your writing catches my attention and forces me to keep reading until the end. I don’t know where this stuff comes from and I don’t think I WANT to know. But…it is entertaining and meaningful and unique which means it has done what it is supposed to do. Capture my attention and make me read onward. Well done.

    November 16, 2009 at 7:51 pm

    • seekraz

      I’m very glad it captured your attention, Sir. And thank you for your kind words. 🙂

      November 16, 2009 at 9:03 pm

  2. byronhj

    I think the world is in desperate need of more men with the propensity to snap, or at least the indignation about events and circumstances to want to. The “justice” system currently in place is beginning to beg for action, if anyone is paying attention.

    I do believe that there is a God, but His or Her absence in places that good people are not, at times such as this story describes, is admittedly beyond defending. And this is, of course, not a new concern, it is a story as old as recorded history and beyond. Given opportunity to ask questions of God, should He care to hear it, I would certainly begin with “Why?”. I guess though, that I am concerned as to, how would I reply if He got to ask me the question first?

    Ok, your writing has me fired up again, which is both the mark of a great writer and the reason I enjoy reading your work.

    Once more, thank you Sir.

    November 18, 2009 at 9:35 am

    • seekraz

      I think you’re right – we do need more indignation in this regard…and I’m touched, again, at your wisdom in your questioning of God and yourself…”why” indeed…and the responsibility for self that the question invokes both ways. I’m glad you enjoy the writing, Sir Byron, and thank you for the kind words. 🙂

      November 18, 2009 at 9:51 am

  3. This makes me want to cry, and oddly enough reminds me of the monologue I wrote and acted out in Theatre Arts. It’s called, A flick of the wrist. It’s about this woman who had witnessed a murder and she was scarred from it, she was talking to herself in the insulated room, and was second guessing everything to the point where she convinced herself she had performed the murder herself.
    And she did.

    Thank you for sharing, this made me shiver.
    I also want to give you a hug, and a freezie.
    ’cause they make me happy?

    -xescape

    http://www.xescape.blog.com

    November 20, 2009 at 10:26 am

    • seekraz

      Your monologue sounds very interesting…and kinda creepy. 🙂 What a surprise to see you here…thank you for visiting my blog…and for the hug and freezie. 🙂

      November 20, 2009 at 1:03 pm

  4. Nathan

    I really liked this one. It’s something that I think we can all empathize with, and surely we can at least understand his motives. From what you’ve seen in your years at the health department, and dealing with the calls that you’ve taken, I can see where this comes from. Matt sounds like he was a good cop, and one that had just tolerated too many criminals and murderers getting let off the hook because of a shitty judicial system. It’s also easy to see why he has lost his faith, as his life experiences showed him that every bit of the bull-shit in the bible contradicts what real life throws our way. It’s all too easy to dismiss what happens on this world as part of “God’s plan”, and all too difficult to accept that this is just part of who WE are as animals…….fucked up and unconscionable.

    “I looked sideways, eyes wide with searching, first one way and then the other, like the words might have landed somewhere on the floor, or maybe on the bed or nightstand, and I could pick them up and throw them at him again”……….my favorite passage, and beautifully written. Great story, Dad 🙂

    November 24, 2009 at 4:14 pm

    • seekraz

      I didn’t want it to be too predictable, but maybe the opening scene caused it to be anyway. I was hoping it would be compelling, thought-provoking, and validating of our own thoughts and desires after seeing or reading of these shit stories on the news, etc. And yes, I like that passage, too. I felt like I was Matt when writing that…how could the Reverand not have heard me? Is his belief and mind-set so severe that it made him dumb? Could he simply not grasp what I said even though it was as clear as could be? Anyway…. Thank you for the nice words, Nate. I do appreciate them. 🙂

      November 24, 2009 at 8:27 pm

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