Eye for Eye

by J K Franko

  Some drugs. Discreetly, of course. While most were partaking solely for recreational purposes, there were a few ingesting more heavily.

  Most hazardous of all, given that it was infecting everyone and was in ample supply, was the potent and dangerous combination of two stimulants: victory and power.

  You see, politics doesn’t attract only “normal” people. As in every part of society, there is a spectrum. And politics, too, has its outliers. The smug and the superior. The arrogant and the snide. The sociopaths.

  Not to be taken with alcohol or drugs.

  For a select few, this combination of alcohol, drugs, and victory combined with power was toxic. It created a euphoria that knew no rules. No limits. No fear.

  Upstairs, Billy had fallen asleep.

  He was awakened by light spilling into his room, accompanied by the rhythm of music and the chaotic chatter of voices as his door suddenly opened and then closed.

  He was groggy and didn’t try to open his eyes. Instead, he just spoke out to the room.

  “Dad?”

  He felt the bed sag as his father sat next to him in a cloud smelling of alcohol and cigars.

  Then he felt dry lips on his forehead. The kiss made him smile, sleepily.

  A hand stroked his head and his hair. He snuggled into his pillow, drifting back towards sleep.

  Suddenly, the same hand that had been stroking his hair gently clamped over his mouth. It was a man’s hand, but it was soft. Clammy. It was not his father. Billy tried to sit up, but the hand squeezed hard, the man leaning into him, pushing him down and pinning him to the bed.

  Billy suddenly felt a second hand, groping, touching him. He didn’t know what to do. He was terrified. He opened his eyes, but it was too dark. He couldn’t see anything other than the shape of the form pressing down on him. He could smell the booze on the man’s warm breath.

  Tears came as the vise over Billy’s mouth forced him to suck air noisily through his nose as the groping continued, searching, finding, fondling, stroking, then reaching, penetrating. He felt pain. He hurt inside.

  He tried to fight, but couldn’t. The hands were too strong. The body too heavy. He felt sick. The stench of cigars and alcohol on fetid breath was nauseating. And he was scared.

  Bile rose in his throat. But the hand over his mouth prevented him from vomiting. He swallowed everything back down. His body began to convulse.

  As it did, the second hand stopped.

  The man’s weight eased on top of his body, no longer pressing him down. The hand over his mouth loosened slightly, and Billy felt the other stroking his hair. He wanted to move, but he was paralyzed with fear.

  The whole ordeal had lasted maybe five minutes. Maybe ten.

  Then the man leaned over and Billy heard him whisper, “Sleep. Sleep. You were dreaming. Go back to sleep.”

  The weight lifted from the bed, and as it did the hand fell away from his mouth, leaving him shivering in the aftermath.

  The door opened and in came the light and the babble of music and voices. That was when he saw the broad profile of a man. The image burned itself into his memory. The image of a stranger whose identity he would eventually learn.

  As the door closed, the crowd cheered as the band started playing—You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet.

  Alone in the dark, Billy Applegate cried until exhaustion claimed him in a fitful sleep.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  In addition to dedicating this book to her, I have to start by thanking my wife Raquel. For over twenty years, she has gently and consistently pushed me to write fiction. Thanks for all your support over the years, for reading all the drafts of this book, and all the others that came before, for your great ideas on story, character, setting, and on the business side of this project as well. This would not exist were it not for you. I love you. You are amazing.

  Thanks to our three children, Pi, Coco, and Jay for being so interested in storytelling, and so creative. Thanks for listening to my ideas, concepts, and generalized rambling for different scenes and providing feedback. And thanks also for sharing your ideas and projects with me.

  I want to thank all of my early readers and supporters—Raymond Rodriguez, Mark Moran, Dr. Melvin Martinez, Clarissa Monell, Anne and Roman Pérez, Carla Cavero, Kyle Lawson, Sara Bensadon, PhD, Richard Grant, and Mercedes Perote. Thank you for your input and encouragement.

  Thanks also to my focus group participants—Francesca Marturano Pratt, Anna Pratt, Daniella Roxanne Pratt, Cheryl Green, Renee Freeman Owens, and Lisa Hall—who devoted a significant chunk of their time to providing feedback leading to significant improvements in the story.

  Thank you to author, designer, artist, and marketing guru Tony Marturano, who started out as the cover designer for “Eye for Eye” and ended up contributing significantly to editing the book and running the entire book launch.

  I would also like to acknowledge one source of material for this book—which is mentioned and quoted from—Roy’s PHI. This book was also relied on the develop Dr. Van der Put’s Lust Murder analysis. Geberth, Vernon J. Practical homicide investigation: Tactics, procedures, and forensic techniques. CRC Press, 2016.