Unfinished Business.

I had waited five years for this day.

I had been stalking this rapist for three weeks, since I had arrived back home after losing myself in a large city because of the day I lost my soul.

He had gotten away with it. And me being so young after his brutal attack, had gone home to soak in a bath for hours and cry until the water was cold, removing any DNA of him from my body. Then his Mother testified that he was with her that night, and the rest of the case fell apart.

I changed my last name to my mother’s maiden name because of all the coverage in the papers and tried to start a new life in a new city. I enrolled in karate, attaining a black belt over the five years, and became an expert shot with different types of pistols. I worked, practicing my crafts daily and took lessons on shooting three times a week. Both skills were like second nature to me when I arrived back home.

In those years, he was rarely out of mind as I pictured him smiling at me in court as his mother lied. I had to go back, it was unfinished business.

I knew now where he and his mother had moved to after the trial. I had watched them both coming and going from home to work. Her schedule never varied, only going grocery shopping on her way home a few times a week for her precious baby boy. She would be easy to track when I needed to.

I watched him from my car, he was playing basketball with a group of men at a local park. His calendar consisted of work and heading to a local bar through the week and playing basketball with his friends on weekends. His career in sports never went any further after high school. He had gained weight, and still had those evil looking eyes. I remember vividly the arrogant smirk as he left the courtroom.

I followed at a distance until he headed down the alley towards his home. I considered the empty lane as the perfect situation. No one else was ever nearby. I closed in on him and aimed for his right shoulder, no more basketball. He spun around as he realized he had been shot but I was gone. I could hear his screams as I drove off.

The next day I waited for his mom to leave work and as she was heading down the stairs to the subway, I put my leg out and she tripped and bounced head over heels to the concrete bottom. A man called for an ambulance.  I could see her leg at an odd angle. Smiling, I walked calmly out of the station.

I looked through the newspaper and found five lines telling about the shooting and the horrid accident his mom had. Things were going as planned.

The next weekend I went to the park and there was my rapist, standing watching his friends play. He had a sling on, talking to a women. I had not seen her in the three weeks that I had been following him. Then another man joined them who looked like a cop to me. Lots of policemen frequent gun ranges and they become obvious to someone with a new keen sense of observation.

I followed him from his home every morning. His shoulder was healing. It was time to put the next part of my plan into place.

I waited at the bar for him in the evening, wearing training shoes, jogging pants and a loose hoodie. Perfect to conceal a weapon. He only had one drink and headed out the door. I followed and ran to catch up and as I jogged past him, I bumped him on the shoulder hard. He swirled with a shout to watch where the fuck I was going. I turned the corner where I knew he would come and faded into the shadow.

As he rounded the corner and before he had time to register surprise, I shot him in the knee. He lay face down on the pavement. I whispered, next time it may go through your heart, and to tell his mom to be careful on stairs. His look of shock and pain became fear.  As I walked past the river, I threw the blond wig into the rushing water.

A week passed. My mother’s intercom beeped. It was the police downstairs wanting to come up. I let them in after they had shown me their identification. The same women and man that had been at the park stood asking if they could come inside. The woman played bad cop, the man good cop. Right away she asked me if I owned a gun, I replied, yes and that I knew she knew that already. Did I know a man named Richard White? Answering back looking her straight in the eye I told her she knew I knew him, and if she had done her home work she would know that he raped me five years ago even though he was acquitted.

The male cop tried to interrupt the conversation but she just talked over him, asking when was the last time I had seen Richard. No hesitation on my part, over five years ago I answered. She wanted to know why I had changed my name. I looked right into her eyes and asked her would she not do the same after having her name plastered all over the papers for months for being raped. She was over aggressive but I had anticipated the challenge and was up to it. Why had I returned here was her next question?  

I asked her why they were here.

The male cop then told me Richard had been shot twice. They were just following up leads of who knew him and why he had been targeted.

They thought his mother falling down the stairs was not an accident, and they did not believe in coincidences. I started to laugh asking them both this time, did they now think he had raped me and I was here seeking revenge. They asked to see my gun, I knew that they knew it was not the right caliber. I was sure they had checked my license.

So unlocking a cabinet, I handed them my Luger. Was that not a larger caliber gun than I needed, bad cop asked? I smiled saying no one would ever rape me again. They left shortly after with one last question why had I returned home after five years. I told them my mother was ailing and I wanted to be closer to her. As I said this, my Mom came out of her bedroom telling them to get out of her home.

A month passed before I went close to Richards’ house. As I passed, he and his mother sat out on the porch, not even noticing my car as I slowly drove by. I waited outside her work the next day as she came out the door with a cane, she slowly made her way towards the subway. Time for another accident.  As she moved towards the stairs I was right behind her it only took a slight push and she was tumbling down the same flight of hard edges.

Richard went to the hospital to pick up his mom the next evening after work. She had broken an arm and re-fractured her leg. He had a surly looking man with him that must have weighed over two hundred pounds. My rapist was scared to be alone. I felt exhilarated watching him looking nervously around wondering if I was near.

As they entered the hospital, I followed them into the elevator. Pushing the basement level button first, and then the stop.  Before they could choose their floor or had a chance to move I kicked his friend in the groin, as he snapped forward I slammed a knee into his head. He dropped, out like a light. Richard just stood looking at me with the realization of who I was. As he grabbed for me I hit him below his chin into his throat. He clutched his neck and dropped to his bad leg choking.

He started to plead as I sent a hard kick to his head to break his jaw. Moving to his bad shoulder, I twisted until I heard the cracking of his arm. It hung dangling at his side. His friend started to stir and moan and I kicked him hard. He lay still.

I had my Beretta out holding it against Richa

rd’s groin. His eyes bulged and he coughed out a plea. I pulled the trigger, twice. He was dead as he hit the floor. The second shot was through his heart.

I stepped out of the elevator at the basement and was away from the hospital before anyone would find him or his friend. I did not want to get rid of my unlicensed Beretta or black wig, but knew they would come and search my mom’s place. So on my way home I threw my wig and brown contact lenses into separate dumpster bins, dismantled the gun, placing the parts into my gloves and tossed them in the river. I liked those soft leather gloves.

I was making dinner when the buzzer sounded, there stood the two cops with a piece of paper saying it was a search warrant to search the house. Good cop told me Richard White had been shot. Dead, I asked bad cop. She might have seen the smile in my eyes as she nodded, but I didn’t care. I told them fine to look for what they wanted but to leave the place how they found it or I would go to the newspapers and tell them of their harassment of a sick women’s home, and that they were re-victimizing me on behalf of a sick rapist.

They wanted to know my whereabouts yesterday. Before I had a chance to answer, my mom spoke up telling them I had been home with her all day and night and never left the house. Mom and I never made eye contact.

They police never took anything away with them and left quickly after my mom told them our dinner was ready to eat.

Mom never asked or spoke of the police again, but did leave the newspaper with the article of the killing and the description of the woman who had black hair, brown eyes about fifty pounds heavier than me. The warm extra clothing lay inside a homeless shelter collection bin.

My soul was returning.