The Hurt You Deserve

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

It is a basic story set in a fictional town about someone who wishes to protect others and help them through their troubled times. There is a social message. There's so much more.

The Hurt You Deserve

 

 

Narrator: It was a calm Sunday morning. A man was walking with an umbrella on, wearing a

trench coat with a bag in his other hand. There are no rains; there’s no prediction. A man can’t

smell the rain on the wind, yet he walks like he knows where he is going. He reaches the outer

door of a mansion, a building. This building has seen better days, and now it seems like an old

horror movie house with broken window pains, burnt paint walls, uncleaned floors. He reaches

the reception, he was recognized instantly. The nun takes him away for a quick conversation.

Professor (He has put his umbrella down in the container at the main door): I’d like to see her.

Female Nun 1: Apologies, Sir, but that will not do anyone any good.

Female Nun 2: She’s too far gone; nobody can bring her back.

Professor: If that is the case, then I must insist on my part that you let me see her. If she’s too far

gone, only I can bring her back.

Female Nun 1: I am afraid it’s too late for that professor. Her father took her away this morning.

There was nothing we could do; we implored him not to take this step. Even the archdiocese

talked to them, alas the prayers fell on deaf ears. She hasn’t eaten for a week. She hadn’t gotten

out of bed for two.

Professor: Thank you sister, it’s time I take your leave. I must see Emily as quickly as possible.

(And with that, he left the building to travel to a sad excuse of the town - Stornik.)

Professor: Where is she? What have you done with her?

Father: You have no right here, Mr. Lavendor.

Professor (Looking behind the man standing in front of him): Is that who I think it is?

Father: That is none of your business. Please get out of my property right now. Or I will have to

call the cops, and don’t forget this is an open-carry state; I have the right to shoot you since

you’re trespassing.

(This didn’t bode well with the Professor, who was already enraged, and now this put him over.

He reached for the collar of the Father, struck him on the face with two backhanded slaps,

showed him his place, put him down on the floor, flogged him with the umbrella he was

carrying, which left the father gasping for air.)

Professor: Don’t you take that tone with me again, Mr. Parker. And especially don’t you ever

threaten me in my town, my country. Now would you be kind enough to point me to Emily’s

bedroom?

Father (He was startled, in shock, in pain): Third room to the right just above the stairs.

Professor: Much obliged.

(Looking at the other guest in the room with a look of disdain, the guest knew better not to move.

He surrendered with his hands in the air. Professor moved up the stairs, knocked on Emily’s

door. By his estimate, nobody else was in the house. Knock, Knock.)

Emily: Who is it?

Professor: Who do you think it would be?

Emily: What are you doing here in this part of the town?

Professor: It is my town too, my dear Emily. Don’t forget. I may have moved up the ladder, but I

haven’t forgotten my roots. Now please open the door.

Emily: Death is always lurking around.

Professor: Where did that come from? But why do you think so?

Emily: I want to die, professor.

Professor: We all die, Emily. The goal of life is to die at the right time. But we must do our parts

before that moment comes; the goal is to create something before that moment arrives.

Emily: I hear what you’re saying, but you’re not aware of everything that has happened since the

time you left me.

Professor: I never left you, Emily. I traveled for work; it was three months only. I left you in

good hands with Father Clementine. Tell me, dear, what has happened? But please open the door.

Emily: I am not ready yet. Why don’t you take a chair? I am sitting against the door.

Professor: No chair required; I will sit against the door too. We can talk this way; it feels like a

confession box. That part seems like a lifetime ago. Nonetheless good for my nostalgic soul to

ponder over a time gone by. So, tell me, my dear. I reckon you did this a lot in the last few

months with Father Clementine.

Emily: Indeed I did; it was the confession box every other day of the week; it was therapy in a

way but the church style. I was talking about the past moments, you know, when my father left

me with him. Father Clementine heard me; he didn’t interfere, he didn’t offer advice as you. He

was more of a mirror, and I could see my dirty reflection in it. It was the month after when you

left me when the dreams returned. They were as vivid as when we talked about them. Forgive

me, professor. I must lie down before I can continue further.

Professor: Please do, my dear. Don’t be afraid.

Emily: His hands touching me, choking me, forcing me, everything was happening to me all over

again when I was there in the church. I woke up every night screaming, drenched in my sweat. I

was not living then; I have not lived since then.

Professor: There’s no pointing hurting yourself over this; we have talked about this, my dear.

You’re not to be blamed for what he did. Whatever he did, he has been punished for it. He is no

longer here; why do you let his ghost linger over you?

Emily: He never left, Professor. He never did. He’s here; he’s waiting for me. He’s waiting for

me to die to finish what he started. He couldn’t do it in this world; he’d do it in the other.

Professor: Do you hear yourself, my child? He can’t hurt you any longer. He’s gone from this

world.

(Emily started convulsing at that moment; her frail body was losing control, she was losing

consciousness. The professor could feel what was happening behind the door; he quickly stood

up and tried breaking the door. He knew Emily was lying against the door, and the door might hit

her if opened with too much force. He had to take the risk anyway. He broke the door. Emily was

lying on the floor; she felt lifeless; Professor quickly started CPR. He didn’t dare scream for

help; he knew nobody else in this house was good for Emily. Emily’s heart was beating again,

her breath was back, but she was still unconscious. This girl was half of what she used to be

three months ago; Professor made Emily drink some water from the bottle he was carrying in his

bag.)

Emily: What happened, Professor? Where am I?

Professor: Nothing, my dear. You’re in your home, and you’re coming with me back to my place

today.

Emily: That sounds nice; save me from him. He’s here, Professor. He’s here.

(With that, Emily fell into the deep slumber of sleep. Professor needed to take Emily to a

hospital; this girl needed medicare. She was delirious; she thought he was dead; Professor kept

up the ruse to get to Emily’s thoughts. Perhaps she was too weak now to do anything. Now he

could see too.)

Professor: I am not letting her stay here for a moment longer, he said to the world.

(He quickly looked for her bag, which she had taken to church; it was lying untouched near the

corner of the room. He picked the girl in his arms, all forty pounds of her, he put her on the bed.

He needed to take care of the problem in her life once and for all.)

(As he moved down the stairs, he knew the guest and the father - they were waiting for him.

They hadn’t dared to come up. They won’t go any longer.)

Professor: Your time has come, Jonathan.

(The guest and Mr. Parker were sitting at the dining table in the room. They were deep in

thought. Jonathan, the guest, looked up. He was afraid to hear and see the professor in this state.)

Professor: You seem afraid, Jonathan. You were never scared of her; you were never scared to be

the devil when you did those things to her. Why are you being afraid of being face-to-face with

the devil now?

Jonathan (afraid for his life, begging): Please, Mr. Lavendor. Don’t hurt me. I am not here to hurt

her again; I was here to take care of her. I wanted to take her home. I wanted to apologize.

(Professor today was in no mood; he knew it was all a ruse. He threw the umbrella at Jonathan

all of a sudden; Jonathan fell backward; the force was such. Professor took his gun out from his

bag and shot Jonathan in the head without another second of thought. Mr. Parker sat there at the

table waiting for his turn; he hadn’t moved since then, his face was red from those slaps he had

received.)

Professor: I am not going to hurt you, Mr. Parker; you’re an evil man, your punishment is to live

with the regrets of your action. You sold your daughter to this weasel bastard and didn’t do

anything when he put the devil on her. You, sir, deserve to live in this hell as your penance.

(Mr. Parker didn’t look up but kept staring at the table; he nodded. He didn’t have any more

lines.)

Narrator: Professor took Emily from that hell to a hospital; it took her a week to gain

consciousness. She recovered fully; she got back to her life with the help of the professor. Emily

deserved to live. She didn’t need to be blamed for this world and what it did to her. Violence

against anyone is a crime. And what happened to Jonathan was what he deserved. Don’t hurt the

woman you marry, don’t hurt anyone, for there would be a professor in his trench coat

(superhero costume) with his umbrella and bag (weapons and repository) who will find you, hunt

you, punish you. You would have deserved it so. It would be the hurt you deserve.

-- Tom Mathews


Submitted: October 01, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Tom Mathews. All rights reserved.

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