Vengeance is an outcome
that cannot be achieved without
doing the thing itself, which is vengeance.
— The Bitter End
Doug got off work at 11pm. It would take him ten minutes to get from his job at the casino, to his house on Wilshire Avenue.
I was there, waiting. I'd been in his home many times, so when I decided this would be the last time, I knew what to do.
And I worked fast.
I found his stash of roofies and poured it all into the creamer in his fridge. Surely, it would be enough to kill him when he made his morning coffee, by which point I'd be long gone.
But first, we were going to have a conversation. He didn't know it, but this would be his only chance to change his fate.
I was sitting on his couch, in the dark, when he arrived.
He opened the door. I waited some more.
He turned on the lights as he closed the door, and he started to walk into the living room. That's when he saw me.
"Jesus Christ!"
"Door, then light," I said. "That's interesting. I'd'a turned on the light first, so I could look around before closing the door behind me, just in case there's an intruder."
He was frozen in place. Probably because my arm was reaching straight forward. And in my hand, was a big shiny gun.
What kind of gun?
Fuck if I know.
It was cold, heavy, and formidable. And it was his. The gun was stupidly heavy, in fact, which meant it was time for Doug to sit the fuck down. You try holding a hunk of steel two feet in front of you.
Steel. What an ironic word, considering the situation. I wasn't stealing his gun though. I was just borrowing it, to make sure I had his full attention.
Like a good boy, he kept the gun locked in a safe. And like a clever bitch, I had the key.
But he was not a good boy, and I was on a mission.
"Step forward, Doug. Come into the living room, slowly, and sit on the floor."
"It's you?!?"
"Yes, it's me."
"But that was... three years ago."
"I remember."
"Why... are you here?"
"I'm only here for a chat, but this thing is loaded, just in case."
God, how I wanted to take the gun and twirl it on my finger, like they do in the movies. I knew I'd be more likely to blow my own head off if I tried, so I brought the gun closer to my body instead. Badass pose be damned. My arm was getting tired.
He said, "You're the one who put blue dye in my clothes last year?"
"And you're the one who put roofies in my drink." I tricked him into switching the glasses. Damn fool knocked himself out for hours. I humiliated him when he woke up. I shattered his confidence, but I let him go. Motherfucker started to cry, and I let him off the hook.
That was a lapse in judgment.
That was then.
"This is judgment day, Doug. It's time for you to learn that comeuppance is real."
"What?"
"What."
"Did you say... 'Muppets'?"
"Goddammit, Doug! Not The Muppets! Comeuppance! It's a thing." And dammit, Claire. Why tell me a fancy word if nobody knows what it means? It's a stupid word. "Actually, y'know what? It doesn't matter. Right now, your job is to not get shot."
"What do you want?"
"I want answers. And vengeance."
Now that's a great word. It starts with a hard V, where your teeth press against your lower lip, and it ends with a trailing Sssss that leaves the tongue like a slithering snake. Vennngeannnsssse. It sounds evil, but it feels right. And righteous.
Vengeance is a noun, but it's really a noun and a verb.
Vengeance is a word of action and consequences.
"Vengeance is an outcome that cannot be achieved without doing the thing itself, which is vengeance, Doug."
It wasn't until I heard myself say his name that I realized I'd been talking out loud. "Well, that's an oops. That was supposed to be one of those Just For Me thoughts, but since I said it... Yeah. That's why I'm here."
As I stared at him, staring at me, staring at him staring at me... it occurred to me that I hadn't thought this through.
Well, that's an oops too.
"It's alright if you didn't think it through," he said. "It's not too late to stop."
"What? Oh, shit. Was I talking out loud again? Sorry bro. I'm losing track of thoughts and words, and HEY! Why the FUCK am I apologizing to YOU?!?"
"Is that what you want? An apology?"
"If I came here to shoot you, you'd already be dead. But I'm not here for an apology either."
"Then, what?"
"I need to understand why you think you have the right to do what you did."
"What I did?"
"DOUG!!! The night we met, at The Bitter End. You laced my drink. You were gonna rape me. I came here tonight because I want to know why you think you have the right to do something so wrong."
"I know I was wrong. I said I was wrong."
"But you knew it was wrong before you tried to do it. You still tried."
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"You knew it was wrong. You still tried. Tell me why."
"I don't know."
"Bullshit. I wanna know why."
"Look, I don't know."
"Bullshit. You wanted sex? Is that it? You didn't need drugs. I'd'a put out."
That's a lie. Probably. Oh, fuck you too. It's okay if guys are easy, but whoa motherfucking whoa if every unwed woman isn't still a virgin? Well, fuck you too.
"I never said women have to be virgins."
And fuck me. I kept mixing up the voice in my head and the one coming out of my mouth.
"Doug, we both know, when guys do that, it's not about sex. What's it really about? Dominance? Power? Say it."
"I don't know."
"That's a lie. New rule: You lie? You get shot. What's it really about?"
I needed to know, but he said nothing. He wouldn't even look at me.
"Fuck you, Doug. I'm gonna count to five. Answer fast, because six comes with a bullet. Ready?"
"Wait."
"Three."
"Wait!!! What happened to one and two?"
"FOUR."
"STOP!!! PLEASE!!!"
"FIVE!!!"
"IT'S ABOUT THE TAKE."
"WHAT?!?"
"It's about taking it instead of earning it."
"You don't earn sex, asshole."
"It's not about the sex. I mean, yeah, it is, but..."
"But what?"
"It's about stealing it, okay? Look, I know I'm awful. My therapist says I damage women because I'm damaged. I'm fucked up, okay? I know it's wrong. I'm a monster."
"No, no! Don't you dare use that word! You say that like it's an excuse!"
"I'm not making an excuse."
"WE ARE NOT THE SAME!!!"
"I didn't say anything about you."
"NO!!!!!"
"I didn't say..."
"FATE'S COMING FOR YOU, ASSHOLE!!! THE MUPPETS ARE REAL!!!"
"Whut?"
"YOU'RE GONNA BURN..."
"I know that."
"AND I'M..."
"Please, put down the gun."
"I'M..."
"You're shaking. Jesus, you're scaring the shit out of me."
"I'M NOT LIKE YOU!!!"
"I never said you're..."
I'm not like him.
I'm not.
I don't deny what I've done. I don't even deny what I am. But I targeted bad guys. That's different. And I got 'em. I even killed a few...
Actually, I don't know who the fuck those guys in L.A. were, but they parked at my valet...
And I got the ones who swam at my...
At my...
"Please..."
At my...
"Please, put the gun down."
"POOL, DOUG!!!!!"
"What?"
Who ya gonna call? "I CALLED CALL GIRLS, DOUG!!!"
"What the fuck?"
"SHUT UP, DOUG!!!!!"
I kept saying his name. And he kept saying, "Please, put the gun down," because he didn't understand. How could he? He never knew what it's like to have nothing. That's why I went after those who had too much. That was the point. By stealing their Bitcoin, I was teaching. "And I did this not only for myself, though especially for myself, but also for the other things," I said, because the power that comes with holding a gun was stronger than I thought, and my train of thought was wrecked. And I was unsatisfied.
He said, "You did what? For what things?"
"I DID THE JOB THAT..."
And the gun went off. The sound was loud enough to shut up the voices in my head. Doug shut up too, until the silence finally became too much, at which point he said, "I think you just shot my table."
"YOU'RE GODDAMN RIGHT I DID!!!"
"I'm begging you to put the gun down."
I got up from the couch, mostly because I forgot I was sitting. And I pointed the gun at him, pushing the barrel of the weapon forward with each syllable as I said, "I'M. NOT. LIKE. YOU."
"I swear to God, I didn't say you are."
"NO! NO!!! NO!!!!!"
I could feel myself boiling over, but I didn't know how to stop the overflow, and I didn't know how to end the conversation. I knew how to end Doug, but it couldn't be like this. I had a better way, and I set it up before he came home. The job was already done. Doug would soon be done, but it wasn't time yet. Got a gun. No. Not like this.
"No, no..."
I couldn't shoot him, but I didn't know how to not shoot him, and I didn't know how to not not shoot him. And I could hear screaming.
My God, the screaming. His, and mine. Got a gun. No, no.
"Not yet," I said to myself, because it was coming, in the morning. "Don't kill him. Don't shoot him. Not now," because in the morning.
"NOT LIKE THIS!" I screamed, because I knew what he'd do in the morning, and I knew it would be the end. He'd make a pot of coffee. I'd rid the world of a rapist. But I couldn't concentrate on that now because of the screaming. His, and mine, and more.
"NOT YET!" I screamed.
"DON'T DO IT!" he screamed.
"GOT A GUN!" they screamed.
There was so much screaming. Some of it was in my head. Some of it was coming out of my mouth. Some of it was his. Some of it was coming from the sirens. Some of it was coming from the men. There was so much screaming. I didn't know how to make it stop.
"OH GOD, OH GOD," the voice coming from my mouth screamed.
"GOT A GUN! DROP THE GUN!" the men screamed.
"GET HER! JUST GET HER!" Doug screamed.
"GET DOWN! I SAID GET DOWN!" the men screamed.
The gun left my hand. It hit the floor with an awful clang. Defeated. I hit the floor too, with a thud. Equally defeated. But the screaming wouldn't stop.
The screaming in my head wouldn't stop.
The Earth stopped spinning.
At least for me.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as if the arc of time had bent and then broken.
I was broken.
I was lifted.
And I wobbled and I swayed as I was pushed forward by men in shiny shoes.
The policemen pushed me through the living room and the foyer, and then out the door, to a squad car.
A hand on my head pushed me down, and in.