Revenge, Inc. Part 2: A Short Story

Author's Note: I really was pleasantly surprised by the responses the very first installment of Revenge, Inc.garnered and did not think it as the first in a series as I intended it to be a stand-alone short story. However, through the urgings of some of my friends and fans right here at Hubpages, I was inspired to continue forward with this story. Until I see a major drop in traffic and an obvious disdain for this series, I'll continue on with this serial. Thank you for your readership.

With that said, if you have not yet read the first installment of Revenge, Inc. please click here as it will redirect you to that Hub.

“Marak? It’s me, Peter…”

I couldn’t believe it. I was about ready to die just a moment ago. I lowered my katana and placed it back into its sheath and let him in. Peter Billingsly. How the hell did I forget? If I didn’t come back tonight at this time, I would have missed him and he probably would’ve been killed in the process of just hanging out here. Guys dressed like Peter don’t last very long here—perhaps as long as it takes for a news van to arrive, which is half the time it takes for an ambulance to arrive and you can forget about the damn cops. They only come out when it’s safe, which is never.

“Did you forget about me?” Peter said while closing the door behind him. “You’re late.” I nodded.

“Yeah, something like that. I had to pay a visit my father. Were you followed?”

“No. And yes, I’m positive.”

“Whatcha’ got?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I don’t like anything you give me, you know that.”

“Geez, you got a bathroom in here? I’m a racehorse.”

“Climb out that window and out onto the fire escape—the roof.”

“You got a bathroom on the roof?”

“No.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Never.”

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll hold it in.” I was flipping through the criminal files. Peter was good for that. Thank god I saved his ass in the third grade back when. He’s got a brother-in-law now on the “Other Side,” which is what you know as The Law.

“Who’s this guy and what’s with the shocked-eye? There’s just his profile page and nothing else.”

“Shit. It’s missing. I should have checked before coming…He wants to meet you, you know.” I looked up at him.

“Who? This dirt bag?”

“No, Freddy…My brother-in-law.”

“Well, then it’s gotta be here on my turf with you and on my terms.”

“He won’t like that.”

“Wait until he meets me.”

“You know, I told him the exact same thing.”

“Then he’ll understand. If he and his buddies did things properly, we wouldn’t have to meet. You set it up.” I handed him back his files.

“That’s it? You got everything need?”

“And then some. I can remember, remember?”

“Right, just not tonight.”

“Tonight was an exception.”

“Do you need some help?” He reached for his the inside of his trench coat.

“No, I’ll get by.”

“Listen, don’t tell Caroline but take this.” Peter handed me a key from his leather-gloved hand.

“What’s this?”

“Sanctuary. 441 Townsend. I just bought it and told Caroline that it’s a future investment.”

“Really? In this fucked economy?”

“Hey, she believed me. You’ll find soap, food, clean clothes, and some razors…Shave that shit, huh?”

“All right, but I’m not going to live there.”

“No, I didn’t think you would. That’s why I’m giving you the key. So don’t say shit.” He didn't want me to thank him.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Right. Well, next week then?”

“Next week. Bring Freddy.”

Peter then left the way he came. I have a problem with saying thank you to anyone. It must be that I’m not thankful for anything, or that I’m thankless or absolutely “ungrateful,” just like my father says. But about Peter Billingsley…Safe to say he’s the only person I can trust aside from my one-sided father. I’m not sure where the hell I’d be without him. But it wasn’t always like this. No. He needed me much more than I needed him, because beginning in the third grade and all throughout grammar school, middle school and high school, Peter got picked on—that is until I came along.

It just so happens that he had a problem standing up for him self, so after meetin’ me, he realized that he didn’t have to. I didn’t mind helping him either, so I guess that’s why he doesn’t mind helping me out now, or during the time when after I lost Adrianna after Haley was born. Adrianna had taken in a deep breath and smiled and never woke up. And only for a moment, I thought she was just tired from the delivery and all and so needed some rest, until the entire delivery room went into a complete uproar of sorts, with the Doc Greenwood shouting out orders and I stepped aside with my thumb up my ass not knowing what to do but watch helplessly as they tried without any success to bring Adrianna back to me—back to Haley and me. Haley’s birthday was Adrianna’s death day. And Haley’s cries were awful and I can hear her still, as if in pain from losing her mother who she never ever get to know.

So I did the best I could with what I had and mind you, I didn’t have much. I was a fucking idiot when it came to diapers and formula and teething—it was just around the time I met Jessica who knew a bit more about it than I did, who came to me ( now that I think about it) after some pity for me and Haley. I think she split after hearing me gripe about Adrianna one too many times and so quit after realizing that I’d never give up loving Adrianna no matter what. I remember bathing poor little Haley in our bathroom sink and wasn’t sure how to do it, about whether or not to put my hands between her tiny little thighs and got all embarrassed about it to no one in particular as I was afraid that God himself would smite me right on the spot for touching my own daughter ‘down there.’ And I remember breaking down and my own tears then, falling from me as I couldn’t help it anymore and falling to my knees right there in my own bathroom while Haley enjoyed herself in her little makeshift bathtub talking baby talk to herself.

But somehow I got through that—we—got through that. The years I spent with Haley were some of the best and memorable years of my life. God took Adrianna away from me, but in exchange, gave me Haley. With the onset of the fall season, I can’t help but remember Halloween and taking her trick-or-treating for the first time. She always loved Tigger so that’s what she was. Back then the neighborhood was much cleaner and much nicer. There was much that I had to learn, but somehow both of us came out okay for a little while.

When she reached the eighth grade, she came home one day and asked me if it would be okay if she could go out on a date. She told me that she, “Really liked this boy” and that the two of them “wanted to go steady.” Well, I told her exactly how I felt and that was that she was way too young to be seeing any “boys.” That was when she turned on me, when she got angry at me for the first time and told me that if her mother were around that, ‘She would understand!’ That was when I did the worst thing I ever did to her: I slapped her. It took absolutely no thought and so was automatic. I was surprised by my own speed. I tell you my heart broke into million pieces just as soon as I did. Haley then began to cry some more and ran up the stairs to her room. When I went up to call her down for dinner she told me that she wasn’t hungry and for me to leave her alone. That night I could barely sleep thinking about Haley. The following morning she came down to the kitchen eager to eat. I made her waffles with whipped cream and strawberries—it was her favorite. She had two platefuls gulped down her milk and ran over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” I told her. “I never meant to hurt you, ever.”

“It’s okay Daddy. I can’t stay mad at you.”

“I promise I’ll never hurt you again, you hear me?”

“Dad! I told you that it’s okay!”

“Go out with that boy, all right? Have a good time.”

“Really? No kidding?”

“No kidding, sweetie. Just don’t let him touch you.”

“Then can I touch him?” I gave her a look. “Geez, Dad, lighten up! I was only kidding!”

“Okay, don’t make me regret this.” Haley rolls her eyes.

“Fine, dad…Thanks.” She kisses me again. “I’m sure Charlie will be happy too.”

“All right, go before you miss your bus. Tell me about what happens when you get home.” And that was the last time the two of us talked to one another.

...Okay, I gotta stop. I can’t fuckin’ talk anymore more about Haley. It hurts too goddamn much. Right now, I need a drink.

...I told myself a long time ago that I didn’t need money to live, that I’d get by and that all I needed was my rage and my ability to fight. But then again, I told myself that Haley was going to grow up strong and beautiful and would go on off to college, where she would meet the man of her dreams and make me a couple of gran kids to play with…

And that’s where her story ends.

And that’s where my story begins.

But in my hands I hold her heart of gold—my keepsake—the memory of her wrapped around my neck with the last picture of her inside, before her…abduction. That fucking word is like acid on my tongue. Haley. She has her mother’s jade-green eyes and her mother’s radiant blonde hair—the mother she never got to know—the only woman I ever loved. I kiss her and Adrianna goodnight every night. The two of them live next to each other, side-by-side inside Haley’s heart and right above mine. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is Haley’s birthday.

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