Jo and the man in the rain

The driving rain hissed as it evaporated upon contact with the repulson field, the man within paid it no heed. His focus was directed solely onto the small cottage in front of him.

Here stood the end of a story he had been trapped within for as long as he could remember.

The cottage perplexed him; it was not what he had expected. If he come on a summer day, he would have seen a perfect chocolate box cottage, with a tenderly manicured garden. He would have seen love radiating.

Instead he saw a garden being ripped apart by a one in one hundred year storm. To the man this seemed fitting.

The woman who lived inside was the most heinous person to exist. In the months leading up to the Coalitions surrender her death warrant had ordered for sedition against the state. After the end of the war a new death warrant had been released by the victorious Dominion for high treason.

The bounty on both warrants remained unclaimed 45 years later.

He had met her once, at the twilight of the war, he had never forgotten her. During his years at the orphanage the councillors encouraged him to speak of his trauma, but he could not. They would not have understood. He sat there watching the other children being adopted, going to live happy lives but he knew there was no such thing as happiness nor good in the world.

He waited until he was of legal age and then left, diving headfirst into vengeance.

Now 34 years later he stood in front of her house. As he passed through the gate his hand instinctually brushed over the gun on his belt, he continued up the path without hesitation.

As her entered his glasses steamed up. He stood silently surveying the atmosphere of the house. Fresh bread and lavender filled his nostrils.

“Come into the lounge dear” the voice trilled with unexpected youthful innocence. “I’ve been expecting you for such a long time.”

In the lounge sat the woman, her voice did not match her visage.

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

“A lot of people have” she smiled, “please sit, would you like some tea?”

“No thank you.” He pulled out his gun, the gun she had given his sister all those years ago.

The lady ignored this, poured two cups of tea, passed one over to the man and took a sip from her own cup.

“Put that away” she nodded towards the gun “and smell the tea”

He took the cup but kept the gun trained on the old lady, he smelt the tea. It was acrid “Poison?” he spluttered stunned “Why?”

“There is enough blood against your name because of me, it’s my repentance”

“You would steal my vengeance like this? You killed my sister and then you kill yourself, pretending to save my soul” He jumped up from his seat in a rage, the gun never stopped pointing at the woman.

“I did not kill your sister, yes my actions put her in harm’s way for a greater good and unfortunately she died but I did not kill her”

“and somehow that nuance is meant to mean something to me is it?”

“No, I suppose not.” she breathed heavily, the poison within her body was already at work.

“and yet you do not even offer an apology”

“No, I do not. Her death, while meaningless lead to a better world today.” Her voice was turning raspy

“For whom? For me? For you? For HER?!” He was screaming at the woman; pent up decades of rage came flying out of his mouth.

“For everyone beyond these walls. The war ended through my actions, your sister’s death and all the others I caused I would do again, to save the world.” She groaned in agony. “I did what I must, you do what you must” she looked at the gun still pointing at her.

It took the man a moment to understand the meaning of this. He sat back down in the chair.

“No. I’ve waited decades for this moment. I think I will sit here and watch until your final breath and then just before the light goes off in your eyes, I will put a single bullet through your skull. You will suffer in agony but you will not rob me of my justified vengeance.”

“Do… what you… must”