The Harbinger of Vengeance: A Revenge Thriller

by Jon Athan

  Aiden smugly smiled as he examined the damage. Shawn had a laceration hidden beneath his slick hair, a swollen nose, and bruises at each side of his tender face. From the dirt on his clothing, he could see Shawn likely had more wounds veiled underneath his garments. He was battered and bruised, exactly like Aiden remembered himself. Aiden nodded in acceptance, then moved the bag of supplies to the counter beside the sink.

  Aiden said, “I'm glad you brought this. It should get the job done. You did good, Shawn.”

  As Aiden returned to his seat, Shawn asked, “You set all that up, didn't you?” Aiden smirked and nodded. Shawn chuckled, then continued, “You... You really held a grudge, didn't you? I didn't even remember that. I barely even remember it now. It's a blur. I mean, that must have been the first time we ever met. It was just so damn long ago...”

  “It was freshman year. I was... I was naive. You could call me stupid and I'd probably agree. I remembered you from junior high, you were always the popular kid and I really looked up to you...”

  “I wasn't popular. I was...”

  Aiden glared at Shawn and sternly said, “Don't interrupt me.” He sniffled, then continued, “I looked up to you. So, I worked up the courage to talk to you. I wanted to talk to you about something cool and edgy, I wanted you to be my friend. So, I decided to talk to you about the glory hole in the bathroom. You remember the glory hole, right? I didn't know much about them back then.”

  Shawn leaned forward and said, “You... You sort of deserved it, don't you think? I mean, you asked me to... to check out a glory hole with you. In front of all of my friends and...”

  “And what? Did I offend your masculinity? Did I make you look 'gay' in front of your friends? It was an innocent question and a naive invitation. You didn't have to pretend to be my friend and accept it. You didn't have to lure me into the bathroom and jump me. If you just shrugged it off, none of this would be happening! None of it!”

  Shawn could see the fury and pain in Aiden's teary eyes. He could hear the years of torment in his stentorian tirade. Yet, he could not conjure the sympathy to sincerely apologize and accept his responsibility in the bullying. Aiden shook his head as he scowled at Shawn. The sudden burst of passion had overwhelmed him.

  Aiden said, “You ambushed me. You beat me up over an innocent question. And, I just wanted to be your friend. You never apologized for it. It seems to me, you only apologize when you're trying to weasel your way out of something. Like your little act on the phone.” Aiden held his hand to his ear like a phone. In a soft, squeaky voice, he mockingly said, “'Please, let me come home. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Let's talk about this. We can be friends. We can kiss and make up.'”

  Shawn leaned back in his seat and said, “I can apologize to you, if... if it ends everything. I'll apologize to you.”

  “If... 'If' is the keyword, Shawn. It's not an apology if you're saying it in exchange for something else. Who the hell taught you to apologize? Huh? And, frankly, I don't give a shit about your apology. I want you to feel what I felt. This... this was only a teaser of what I have planned for tonight. But, at least you have an idea. Now, I need you to think about what's next.”

  “No, no, no. Aiden, I could have been killed tonight. That man had a gun. He had a fucking gun! I can't do something like that again. I can't risk my life for this.”

  Aiden responded, “Don't worry about it. Remember, it was all planned. It was a controlled environment. Stop thinking about yourself and start thinking about us. So, again, I need you to think about what's next.”

  Shawn ran his fingers through his moist hair as he contemplated his past bullying. Senseless beatings, garment-shredding wedgies, and verbal onslaughts crossed his mind – nothing in particular stood out. He placed his bloodied hand on the table, then drummed his fingertips on the tabletop. Aiden planted his left palm on the table. Shawn inhaled deeply from his nose upon spotting the scar on Aiden's hand.

  Aiden smiled and said, “You may not remember everything. Maybe the first challenge was too vague. Then again, you received a measly detention over this, too. What kind of school system treats bullying like tardiness? Oh, right, our school system. As long as you're not challenging authority, harassing a teacher, or skipping class, it's okay to bully a peer. Bullshit.”

  Shawn said, “I remember that, Aiden. I'm... I'm sorry, I swear. You have to understand, it was the peer pressure. It was the... it was everything. Something forced me to act like an asshole, but I was young. It was stupid, but I was young.”

  “Something? What? Were you possessed? You did this because you are an asshole, Shawn. There is no other excuse.”

  Aiden reached into his right pocket, then pulled out a metallic fountain pen. He tossed the silver fib pen on the table. The writing utensil rolled across the table, then stopped directly in front of Shawn. The sharp end of the pen was unsettling. It pricked his psyche, stabbing into his wicked memories.

  Shawn shook his head and said, “No, no, no... You said this was a reflection of what I did to you. I never touched a pen like this. I've never even owned a pen like this. That mark... That mark came from a...”

  Aiden interrupted, “A pencil. I know. I'm glad you remember, by the way. A pencil. That's how the so-called 'Pencil Game' is played. But, I'm going to change the rules for our challenge. You're going to plant your palm on the table and you're going to stab this pen between your fingers as quickly as possible. Exactly like you made me do in our sophomore year, but with a pen instead of a pencil, obviously.”

  Shawn's eyelids flickered as he gazed at the forbidding pen. The nib was sharper than a scalpel – it could cut through flesh like butter. It sparkled with the room's lighting, shimmering like a diamond in the sun. Aiden gazed into Shawn's glimmering eyes, soaking in the inevitable tears. Vengeance was a flavor he savored.

  Aiden asked, “Are you ready for our next challenge?”

  ***

  Shawn shook his head like a dog out of a bath. He said, “No, no, I'm not playing this game. It's not fair, Aiden, you know it. Give... give me a pencil and I'll do it, but I'm not doing it with that. We have rules. It reflects, remember?” Aiden sat in silence, disregarding Shawn's hopeless pleas. Shawn continued, “Please, give me a pencil. I'll do it with a pencil, alright?”

  Aiden slapped his palms on the tabletop and stood from his seat. The loud thud of bare skin slapping hardwood echoed through the kitchen and up the stairs. Shawn worriedly glanced over his shoulder. He could not afford to wake his wife. His condition was abysmal and embarrassing.

  Shawn said, “Keep it down, please. You're going to wake...”

  In a stern tone, Aiden interrupted, “Are you trying to tell me what to do? Is that it?”

  “I'm not saying I won't do it, I'm saying I won't do it with that pen. Give me a pencil. Let's be fair about this.”

  Aiden barked, “Do it! Grab the damn pen and do it! I don't give a damn if I wake her! If you don't stab that pen between your fucking fingers, I'll tell the world everything! I'll scream at the top of my lungs and tell the world...”

  Shh! – Shawn uttered the sound as he glowered and waved his hands. Aiden briefly paused his warpath – an intermission to analyze the situation. Shawn gazed at the dismaying pen as he contemplated the daunting task. He was living a night of limited options.

  He tightly gripped the sharp pen in his clenched fist. His hand trembled from the fear and rage. His eyes sparkled with a fiendish glow – vengeance was a two-way street. As he caught a glimpse of Shawn's diabolical eyes, Aiden childishly giggled. He was unfazed by Shawn's scowl.

  Aiden said, “Whatever you're thinking, think again. Remember, if you do anything to harm me, the video will go live and your life will end. Think before you act.”

  The flames of fury crepitating in his eyes extinguished with Aiden's warning. He could only play along with Aiden's sinister game. Shawn firmly planted his left hand on the table, then stretched his spindly fingers as far and wide as possible. Slowly, he stabbed the pen
between his fingers. The pen easily penetrated the wooden table. He stabbed between his thumb and index finger, then between his index and middle finger. He briefly paused between each thrust – a second to plan the next strike.

  Aiden wobbled the table and asked, “What are you doing?”

  As he stabbed between his little finger and ring finger, Shawn explained, “I'm trying to... I'm trying to find a flow.”

  In disbelief, Aiden said, “A flow? You're trying to find a flow? I didn't have time to find a 'flow.' I had a group of assholes egging me on. Remember that? You don't get that privilege, Shawn, you don't get a damn flow! Play the game! Do it! Do it!”

  A wave of sweat rippled down Shawn's forehead as he recklessly accelerated his pace. The anxious perspiration dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision and further complicating the stressful game. Aiden slammed his fists on the table, mimicking the conditions of his past. Each strike of the pen was fraught with peril.

  Shawn shrieked and hopped back in his seat as he stabbed the pen into his pinky finger. The fib pricked the joint beneath his fingertip, easily piercing through the skin. Shawn jumped from his seat and held his hand to his stomach, grimacing from the stinging pain. The twinge echoed through his entire hand.

  Aiden smiled and said, “That looked like a good one. Let me see it.”

  Shawn glared at Aiden and responded, “Are you kidding me? I just stabbed myself and you want to see it?” Aiden smirked and nodded. Shawn shook his head and said, “You've gone insane... You've really gone insane.”

  “Stop disobeying my orders. Show me your hand. Now.”

  Shawn's teeth chattered from the fright. He could hear the anger in Aiden's voice. Shawn lifted his hand and showed his wound, twirling his wrist as he modeled his hand for his audience. Aiden chuckled as he gazed at the small wound. Tiny in diameter, the small prick still oozed blood like an erupting volcano.

  Aiden said, “Oh, come on, it's not that bad. I expected something much, much worse. Well, place your hand on the table.”

  Shawn wrapped his bloodied hand with his shirt, trying to block the wound from bleeding. He said, “I can't. I know where this is going. I don't want to go any further. It's over, okay? You've made your point. I remember the bullying and I... I repent.”

  “What did I tell you about disobeying me? Huh? Place your damn hand on the table. If you move it off again, you lose the game. It's over when I say it's over. Get ready for round two.”

  Shawn returned to his seat. He planted his left hand on the table, then glanced at Aiden. With glimmering puppy eyes, he pleaded for mercy. Aiden pouted and shook his head. From experiencing a lifetime of torment, Aiden was not familiar with mercy. He could not grasp the simple concept.

  Shawn nodded as he began stabbing the pen between his fingers. He picked up his pace with each swift stab. The table rumbled and wobbled from the frantic blows. Shawn grimaced from the inevitable pain, he could feel the agony looming around the corner. Sweat spurted from his glands, mucus oozed from his nostrils, and tears gushed from his eyes.

  After a minute without injury, Aiden smiled and said, “Don't stop, Shawn, don't you dare stop. I can see you're very good at this game.” Aiden stood from his seat and gazed at Shawn. Shawn kept his eyes on the pen and his hand. Over the thudding and scratching, Aiden said, “I think you need more of a challenge, though. An expert needs challenge, right? So, I'm going to shake this table and you're going to keep going. But, remember, don't stop. I couldn't stop.”

  Aiden placed both of his palms on the dining table, then pushed downward. The table groaned and wobbled from the weight. Shawn whimpered as he continued playing the game. He winced with each stab, knowing the ending would be a bloody mess. With the wobbling table, his accuracy dwindled. Shawn bawled as he stabbed his middle finger. A crunch sound reverberated through the kitchen as the honed fib penetrated Shawn's fingernail.

  Aiden deviously cackled, then said, “Wow. Now, that must have hurt, Shawn.” He giggled, gripping his stomach and slapping at his knee – a real knee-slapper. As he composed himself, Aiden said, “That's what I wanted to see, but it's not over... No, it's not over yet.”

  ***

  Shawn held his hand to his stomach. Droplets of blood seeped from his self-inflicted wounds and dripped onto his khaki pants. His thighs were painted red with his blood. His cheeks were blushed, his ears were crimson, and his eyes were bloodshot – a portrait of agony.

  As the throbbing pain echoed through his body, Shawn hysterically sobbed. Gooey saliva spurted through his gritted teeth. The copious slobber dribbled from his lip with his wheezing and grunting. Enduring the pain of a splinter under his fingernail was nothing compared to the vicious stabbing.

  As he whimpered, Shawn said, “The challenge is over, Aiden. I... I can't do another, I can't go for round three.”

  Aiden walked to Shawn's side and said, “I think you know there is no round three. The challenge isn't over, but there is no round three, Shawn.” He extended his left hand and said, “Place your palm back on the table and give me the pen.”

  Shawn gripped the pen towards his stomach, buying himself time to ruminate. He grimaced as he delved into his memories, plunging into the darkest depths of his mind. He reflected on Aiden's pain, remembering the game they played during their lunch period. He remembered the end of the game and he refused to suffer the same fate.

  Shawn responded, “No. I know what you're going to do. I remember it. I'm sorry, Aiden. I'm sorry about everything. It was... It was on the spur of the moment. I wasn't thinking straight. I'm telling you, it was the damn peer pressure. I was like you, I just wanted them to like me. I couldn't control myself. I'm sorry.”

  “Give me the pen, Shawn. We can get this over with. We can finish this challenge and move on. Give me the damn pen.”

  “No!”

  Aiden rolled his eyes and tilted his head towards the ceiling. With his right hand, he gently rubbed his lower back. He pulled his shirt up, then covertly rubbed the grip of the sleek black semi-automatic pistol clenched in the back of his waistband.

  Aiden smiled and said, “Shawn, unless you want everyone to know your dirty deeds, you're going to place your hand on the table and return the pen. Do you understand me?” Shawn whimpered as he gazed at his groin, mewling like a newborn baby. Aiden yelled, “Get your hand on the table or I'll wake your wife! I'll drag her into this! Stop playing with me and do it!”

  Shawn grunted as he slapped his hand on the table. Blood leaked from his little and middle fingers like an open faucet, caroming off his fingers and streaming across the table. His arm trembled and his head twitched – the anxiety was overwhelming.

  Shawn said, “I'm not giving you the pen. I'll do it myself, okay? I know what I did, I know what you want to do. I... I can do it myself, okay? I don't trust you... I can't trust you.”

  Wide-eyed, Aiden asked, “You don't trust me?”

  “I can't trust you, Aiden. You said it would be fair, you said it was a... a reflection of the past. You changed the rules, so let me slide. Let me do this to myself, let me... let me punish myself. Please, Aiden, I'm begging you.”

  With his right hand rubbing his lower back, Aiden sighed and gazed at the ceiling. Shawn frowned as he stared at Aiden with hopeful eyes. He could not identify his plan. Aiden had the posture of a thinking man and the facial expression of a cunning child. He was an unpredictable force of vicious retribution.

  Shawn stuttered, “I–I... I can play... I can...”

  Aiden stared down at Shawn and said, “No. We play by my rules. I control the game, not you.”

  Aiden pulled a sharpened wooden pencil from his pocket, then stabbed down towards Shawn's hand with all of his might. The yellow pencil penetrated the center of Shawn's hand, piercing the skin and scraping the bone.

  Shawn bellowed from the pain as he hopped off his seat and staggered in reverse. He bit his bottom lip and scrunched his face as he tried to bury his bawling. Despite the agony, he did not want to wa
ke Maribel. His eyelids fluttered as he gazed at the pencil protruding from his hand in disbelief.

  Shawn stared at Aiden and stuttered, “You–you...”

  He could not conjure the words to form a comprehensible sentence. The insufferable pain choked him, clogging his throat with a lump of anguish. Shawn leaned on the arch entrance and inhaled deeply. His head swayed with the sudden giddiness.

  Aiden laughed into his clenched fist, then said, “Oh, come on. This act again? It's not that bad. Remember, you got detention for this. It's really not bad at all. What did they say to me? 'You just have to wash it off and put a band-aid on it.' First, we have to remove that pencil. Let me give you a hand.”

  Shawn whispered, “No, please... Please...”

  Disregarding Shawn's pleas, Aiden moseyed towards the arch entrance. With a sly grin plastered on his face, Aiden gripped the yellow pencil stabbed into Shawn's hand. Shawn tightly shut his eyes and clenched his jaw as if the minuscule preparations would limit the pain.

  Leaning towards Shawn's ear, Aiden whispered, “I'm going to need my pencil back, bitch.”

  Memories flooded his mind as Shawn remembered the words of his past. Aiden gritted his teeth, then viciously yanked the pencil from Shawn's hand. Shawn sobbed and held his wounded hand to his stomach. His legs wobbled as he lurched towards the table. Aiden smiled and helped Shawn find his seat – a true gentleman. As Shawn settled in his chair, Aiden strolled towards the other end of the table.

  He took his throne and explained, “I knew you wouldn't return the pen. I knew the memory would return eventually. Again, it took a little longer than expected, but at least it came back.” He smiled and asked, “You really buried your past, didn't you? Why? You just didn't give a crap? Is that it?”

  With his head slumped forward, Shawn responded, “It's... It's in the past...”

  “The thing about the past, Shawn, is that it's always lingering and waiting to return,” Aiden said. He planted his left hand on the table, showing the stigma of his bullying – the scar of his past. Aiden said, “You did this to me. Fortunately, I can still move my hand, but it's... it's hard. You never apologized for this, either. You just didn't give a fuck.”