Revenge. Short Story.

Sharon looked into his eyes, she could see it, the dead gleam of a predator sizing up his pray. She smiled at him, it was a small smile, meek. Just as she had seen the predator in him, he saw the prey in her and he smiled back. Wide, bright, charming. If you weren’t paying attention you could hardly tell the smile never reached his eyes. He moved through the bar to her, when he arrived he put his hands on her waist and leaned in slightly, Sharon wanted to instinctively pull away but she stopped herself. “Hey gorgeous, what do you want to drink?”
She giggled, hating the sound as it left her mouth, “Um, I was having vodka and coke?” He nodded, “Coming up.”
His hand slid down her waist lingering slightly at her outer thigh before he turned and moved to the bar. Sharon took a slow breath, it would all be over soon.

He returned a few minutes later with her drink, she was sure he had put something in it, though there was no way to tell without drinking it. She feigned a sip, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, though I should be thanking you, it’s not every night you get to spend time in the company of someone so beautiful.” Sharon giggled again, His hand reached out and brushed some of her hair behind her ear, she barely suppressed her shiver.

They talked for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only twenty minutes, before he suggested they get out of the bar. Sharon nodded, smiling coyly. Her drink was sitting untouched on the table. They moved through the crowd easily, they seemed to part before them, his hand was placed firmly in the small of her back, guiding her along. Outside in the cold air Sharon finally allowed herself to shiver. “Cold?”
“A little.”
“Here.” He stripped off his jacket and passed it to her, Sharon shrugged it on, thankful of the warmth. They walked a short distance to his car, of course it was parked near by. She got into the passenger seat. He turned on the car and turned up the heating so it was full blast, he picked up a CD and slid it into the CD player. As he drove he continued the conversation well enough for the both of them, hardly aware that she was barely listening. Sharon watched the trees and houses pass by, wishing she was tucked up in bed.

She was surprised when he pulled up in front of a house that was classier than she was expecting. She had him pegged for a hunt her in the woods kind of guy, or at best he’d have a crappy house that was falling apart in the middle of nowhere. He got out of the car and walked around to her door, opening it for her. She stood out and smiled at him, he leaned in for a kiss, Sharon was about to pull away, but now was as good a time as any. She leaned in, their lips touching. She could feel it happening, she could see it too. Watching from a strangers eyes as he tortured and killed her, feeling each mark on her flesh. It was over as quickly as it begun, he pulled away from her and slipped his hand into hers, holding it firmly he began to walk towards the house. Sharon allowed herself to be pulled along.

The house was familiar, she had been here before in her own, odd way. He walked her into the living room, “I’ll grab us some drinks, vodka coke ok?”
Sharon sat on the couch and waited. It was going to kick in any second. He returned a moment later and passed her the glass, as she took it their fingers touched and his eyes widening slightly. Sharon smiled, her first genuine smile of the night. There it was. He gasped and dropped the glass, “What’s happening to me? No, please.” He collapsed onto the ground, his words slurring. Sharon stood and went into the kitchen, there she washed out her glass and put it away. As far as anyone would know, she was never here. She walked past the man, still struggling to move on the floor. She paused for a second, watching. She had been through this before herself but the memories of it were thankfully gone. He tried to push away hands that weren’t there. His eyes were cloudy, but the fear was bright. He would relive every moment of what he had done to the women before her, except this time he would be the victim. Sharon turned from him and left the house. She was a little out of her way, but she’d walk for a bit, then call a taxi. She took the jacket with her, it was a cold night and the jacket was warm.

Outside she felt the tension easing from her body, tonight had been a good nights work. They had been visiting her since she was about fifteen, ghosts of those who had been wronged. Her job was simple, she would find whoever did it to them and then, well, the ghosts took care of the rest. Sometimes it was easy, like whoever she had left in the house, other times it was more difficult. Not everyone was young and not all of the victims were recent. The last guy she dealt with had been a child molester, racking up numerous victims. When the victims started dying they had come to her, and she had gone to him. He was old now, infirm and in a nursing home. She had pretended to be a niece and she had sat by his bed, hand loosely holding his. She had watched as it had happened. They had gone into him, altering his memories. He relived each of the abuses, over and over again. She had left him like that, unable to move, unable to speak. He deserved it though, they all did. They were monsters and it was her job to hunt them down, to make sure they couldn’t inflict their evils on anyone else.


About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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