Derek

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story about revenge

Submitted: July 04, 2017

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Submitted: July 04, 2017

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  I gave him a polite smile as a reply to the comment he had made a few seconds before he lifted the mug in his hand and took another sip. He was completely unaware of the strong sedative that I'd put in his coffee, nor did he have any idea about the plan I had in store for him. But more importantly, he didn’t realise that I knew who he was and what he'd done.

How far are you willing to go to get justice for a crime that has gone unpunished? I'm willing to go very far. In fact I'm willing to kill, and that's why I had lured Derek over to my house. 

It had been easy. I had simply contacted him and asked him if he could give me a quote. And he hadn’t been hard to convince. He obviously saw me as another fat cat that would pay him handsomely for a couple of days of shoddy workmanship.

Little did he know of my true intentions.

You see Derek belongs to a large group of people who are allowed to walk around freely, despite having committed heinous crimes. In Derek's case we're talking about half a dozen rapes, and they had been extraordinarily violent ones. He had treated his female victims in the most horrific manner imaginable, and in the process shattered their lives and those of their next of kin. 

And the fact that he had gotten away scot free had only emboldened him. It had made him even cockier than he was, and he had soon realised how easy it was to break the law and get away with it. And once he got the taste for it, well…. then there was no stopping him. People like Derek never do, and that's why someone else has to do it for them. Don't get me wrong, I believe in the rule of law, but when the courts fail to do their job, then it's up to the citizenry to see to it that justice is served. And in this particular case, the citizenry happened to be me.

He had raped my niece, Helen two months earlier at a party over on the west side. At first he had come across as a charming gentleman. Then when she had let her guard down, he had spiked her drink. And when the effects of the drugs had started to kick in, and she had walked out of the house to get some fresh air, he had followed her, grabbed her and driven her to a desolate location where he had his way with her. 

And it hadn't been enough just to take her innocence. No, that wasn’t enough for the monster who answered to the name of Derek. He hadn’t been able to contain himself. He had used brute force on a woman who barely reached up to his shoulders, and who was completely incapable of defending herself. He had beaten her so badly that her parents almost didn't recognise her when they rushed over to the hospital early the next morning.

That night he had destroyed three lives, and inflicted deep emotional scars on several others. And the worst thing was that he didn’t seem to care. By looking at him, leaning casually up against the handrail on the veranda at the back of my house, you'd think it had never happened.

But I knew better, and I knew what he was capable of. He didn't fool me. The confident smile, the dominant attitude and the cold calculating eyes told me that I was looking at a psychopath. Of course, he had no idea who I was, and I was thus able to act naturally, despite the hatred simmering inside my soul.

As, I listened politely to the drivel that was coming out of his mouth, between sips of coffee, I wondered if he would cry when it would finally dawn on him that this time he would be the victim. That his time was up, and that today it was his life that would be shattered. 

I would have liked to know, but I would never get a chance to ask him. But I suspected that he would, and that was good enough for me.

Watching the sedative kick in was like watching a boxer receiving a few quick jabs to the head, then walk around in a daze for about ten-fifteen seconds, before finally conceding defeat and hitting the floor. 

Derek collapsed five minutes after he had finished the last of the coffee, and he would stay out for at least three, maybe even four hours. Then he would wake up and receive the biggest shock of his life. 

I watched him for a few minutes, before I got the car keys out of his pocket. Then I got down to business. I started dragging him over toward the section where the green tarpaulin was spread out across the grass. He was a big guy, but I managed to get him over there without any problems. 

Then I removed the tarp and the two sheets of plywood that was covering the hole, and pulled him all the way over to the edge. Once that was taken care of, I jumped into the hole and started pulling him over the side. It was easy. Once the upper body was in, the lower half slid effortlessly down the dirt all on its own. 

I placed him inside the hard wooden plywood casket that I’d built a couple of days earlier, and managed to bump his head on the edge of the wooden box in the process. But not a single sound or grunt escaped from his lips. He was truly knocked out, and I guessed he had never drifted this deep into the land of snooze before.

I positioned him on his back, and placed the mask with the regulator over his face and opened up the main valve of the four oxygen tanks that were positioned next to his feet. Then I placed the portable CD player on his chest and turned on the flashlight that was mounted to the side panel of the casket.

Then I climbed back out again, fetched the lid and placed it on top of the box. It was a snug fit. 

It only took me an hour to fill the hole. I used the wheel barrow and dumped the soil over the marine ply. It made a nice gushing sound as it rained down over it. Then, two and a half cubic meters later I was done, and Derek was resting six feet below, breathing in fresh air from brand new oxygen tanks and having the bright beam from a flashlight shining into his eyes.

There was enough air in the tanks to last six hours, after that .... well, it would get very uncomfortable. But by that stage Derek would have listened to the CD and realised why his premature death was only moments away. 

By then he would also have had ample time to panic and feel the debilitating fear that he had instilled in so many of his own victims, I thought as I stomped the topsoil with my feet. Then I spread the tarp back over the fresh dirt and placed the sheets of plywood on top of them. 

I took a few steps backward and looked at the little rectangular plot that was now the final resting place of Derek Matthew Macmillan. Reality had caught up with him, and justice had finally been served. Helen would no longer have to look over her shoulders, or fear running into him whenever she worked up the courage to leave the house.

Then I grabbed the car keys that I had removed from his pocket, got into his van and drove away. There was no point in leaving any evidence around. It was much better to dump it at the long term parking facility next to the airport. It would take months before anyone would raise an eyebrow, and by that time the grass would have grown back over Derek's cosy little grave. 

I smiled as I turned the corner and headed for the freeway. Revenge is definitely a dish best served cold.

 


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