Reprisal

         “Yes, mom!”
         His irritated voice clearly conveyed the message: Leave me alone! Yet his worrying mother didn’t seem to understand, just as all moms don’t. She had an unending stream of nagging.
         He was leaving for college. University of Maine up in Orono.
         “Do you have socks? Your winter coat? I know it gets so cold up there. What about the directions? Did you print them out? Have you looked over them? What if you get lost? How much gas do you have? Do you need money for more gas?”
         “Mom, just be quiet, will ya? I’m going to be fine; I’ve got everything under control!”
         His mother fell silent and looked away. He wanted to say something to her, tell her that he didn’t mean to be harsh, and that he was sorry. But he couldn’t. It would just dig up old memories that would make her cry. As a matter of fact, it would make him cry, as well.
         He lifted the last two heavy bags of luggage to be taken out, slung them over his shoulder, and walked down the stairs to the front door. He didn’t bother to take one last look at the house he had grown up in. Memories didn’t matter.
         He brought them out to his car and crammed them into the already packed-full back seat. He turned around and stared at his mother and father. They stared back.          
         “Well. I should probably get going,” he said. On instinct, his mother flew forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him, with tears welling in her eyes.
         “I’m going to miss you, B. My baby boy is leaving me!” She cried some more.
         His father came up to him and shook his hand, “I’m proud of you, son, going off to college and all.”
         “Yeah.”
         “You call us right when you get there, y’hear? I don’t want to deal with your worrying mother longer than I have to.” His father smiled.
         “Sure.”
         “Well, I guess we’ll talk atcha’ later. Love ya, bud.” He reached his arm around his son’s shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze.
         “I love you, pumpkin! Don’t you forget your mommy, now!” his mother managed to utter in between sobs.
         “I won’t. I love you, too.” He got into his car and shut the door. Putting in one of his noisy, angry rock CDs, he turned up the volume to the point where the car was pounding and sped off.

                                       ♦♦♦

         Flashes. Blue and white. Painful sirens.
         He saw them from blocks away. He heard them from across town. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it.
         His filthy, souped up ’95 Honda Civic screeched as he slammed on the breaks in front of his house. He just barely avoided totaling two police cars, his along with them. He threw open his car door viciously and sprinted past the officers. He ignored the annoyed shouts of “Hey, kid, you can’t go in there! Where do you think you’re going? Get back here, punk!” He barely heard them. The front door was wide open.
         “What in the hell happened?” His house seemed normal enough. Clean, except for a few toys lying on the floor. Warm and ready, but uneaten, baba ghanoush was dished out onto four plates at the table. But, there was one thing that was definitely out of place, something big. He found his mother and father sitting on the couch, with an officer across from them on the love seat. His mother was sobbing into his father’s chest. His father was staring forward blankly, with tears running down his face.
         He stood there, looking around, waiting for an answer. His mother continued to howl into her husband’s shirt and his father’s face changed not at all from the vacancy that was there before. He drew himself up to full height and turned to face the police officer, thinking to himself, you gotta be straight up with ‘em, those cops. Be tough. No beating around the bush.
         “I said, what happened here? Where–” He cut himself short, glancing about the room. His face made it known that something in his mind had clicked. His body gradually fell from the bulk that it was drawn to, as is in slow motion.
         The police officer stood up, eyeing his dark, spiked hair, his black band shirt, and his greasy, ripped jeans. Obviously disgusted.
         “Just over a half hour ago, a man entered your house...”
         He stood with his jaw slack, lifelessly staring at the officer.
         “Both of your parents were upstairs…”
         He felt around for a chair near him and collapsed into it. He shook his head repeatedly, trying to clear the disorder in his mind.
         “Your little sister…”
         Random, irrelevant thoughts. Little, that’s for sure. She has always been so small, barely three and a half feet at five. My pretty, tiny lady.
         “Adelphie...”
         God, I love that name. It completely works for her. Dearest Sister. Sometimes she hated it. “Why can’t I have a cool name like you, Brody?” Hah, cool name. She’s so adorable, so naive. Nobody wants the name Broderick. Everybody wants a name like Adelphie.
         “She was taken by this man…”
         Taken by this man, hah. Sounds like she’s getting married or somethin’. But she doesn’t like boys. Boys are yucky. The only boy she likes is me. Her brother. We’re tight like that.
         “And we don’t know who this man was…”
         Panic wriggled its way in between his unclear thoughts.
         “Or where she could be…”
         Adelphie. She’s gone. You don’t know where she is? How? We have to find her! Why are we sittin’ here, doin’ nothin’? Let’s go! Let’s…go… The blackness settled in.
         And then there weren’t any thoughts at all.

                                       ♦♦♦

         Brody awoke in a cold sweat. His sheets were twisted and locked around him like a straightjacket. He found himself mumbling in a pained voice, “Let’s… go…”
He sat up and shook his head. Glancing at the clock, he groaned and fell back down onto his pillow. Four in the freakin’ morning! Holding onto the optimistic thought that he would fall back asleep, he closed his eyes and tried not to think much.
         But the thoughts came nonetheless. He had gone over it time and time again. Too many miserable places to unwillingly revisit. Regret and shame blocked his restless mind from the sleep it so desperately needs. “If only” sentences floated around, only too conveniently within reach. If only he could have been in the house at that exact time, if only he wouldn’t have gone out with his friends on that exact day. His sister would have been in second grade now, her blonde hair would have been so long and curly, she would have been bringing him home pictures she drew with her crayons, and she would have been learning her addition. If only.
         It had been three years from the time when his younger sister was kidnapped. The tragedy had hit him deeply; he was a completely different person. He really loved his sister, almost like she was his own daughter. He thought about her all the time, where she was, who she was with, if she was happy, and if she was alive or dead. As expected, he became depressed. Sat in his room, and talked to no one. Struggled to simply get by. However, unlike others who grieve and move on, something held him back. Something wouldn’t allow him to haul himself out of despair. It was revenge.
         It filled him and overtook him completely. Always in his room, lifting weights, becoming stronger, bigger; he was driven by the vengeful anger inside of him. He wanted to find the man who had taken his sister. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted to make him pay for everything he had done to his sister, and everything he had done to himself and his family. He wanted to punish him. He wanted to kill him.
         Brody couldn’t stand the silence any longer. He stood up, walked into the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of water. Staring out the window at the artificial illumination of the streetlights, he had the sudden desire to go for a run. He grabbed his iPod from the dresser in his room and turned up the volume on more of his angry rock music, pounding through his ear-bud headphones. He pulled on a blank grey hoodie, black basketball shorts and sneakers, and walked out the door.
         Not bothering to lock the door behind him, he jogged down the stairs to the sidewalk and set off running with full force. Keeping a normal pace. Sneakers thudding on the cement in time to the music. The muscles in his legs began to burn, but he pushed on, simply enjoying the exercise. Enjoying having something to distract himself with.
         After three blocks, he began to feel the beginnings of a stitch in the side of his abdomen, but he continued, paying little notice. His short hair and the sweat on his forehead was hardly keeping his body warmth from escaping in the early morning chill, and so he threw his hood up over his head, consequently shadowing his face.
         The street ahead was normally quite the busy one during the day, but now, while everyone is sleeping soundly in their beds, it was almost deserted. Reaching this street and looking to his left, he saw a dark blue truck coming towards him down the road. Not wanting to change the direction he was running, he jogged in place until the truck arrived at him and the intersection. The truck stopped at the stop sign and the middle-aged man inside smiled and waved Brody ahead, indicating that he would wait, so that he could go on with his running. Brody waved back at the man, smiling, and jogged across the street.
         As he resumed his impulsive morning run, he thought that he had seen someone small in the passenger seat of the truck, maybe a kid. Though it made no difference to him, he glanced back at the truck to see, but it was too late. The truck was already driving off in the other direction.

                                       ♦♦♦

         A week later, Brody rolled down his windows to let in the fresh outside air as he pulled out onto Park Street and started on his way home. It had been a truly exhausting day of non-stop classes, and all he could think about was making a delicious, warm dinner for himself and taking a huge nap. Halfway home at a stop light, he remembered that he barely had any food at all in his apartment.
         “Goddamnit!” he yelled, smashing his fists onto the steering wheel. The people in the cars around him glanced at him with frightened looks on their faces, and without missing a beat, changing back to the annoyed looks they were giving him earlier due to his loud music.
         “Uugh!” he exclaimed. He quickly calculated how much money he had left from his last paycheck, and he turned right instead of going straight when the light changed.
         He pulled into the garbage-ridden parking lot of Aldi’s and parked next to a dirty truck with a busted headlight. It stirred something in the back of his memory, but he was too annoyed with having to go out of his way to the grocery store to go through the trouble of thinking about it.
         Inside, he went down the aisles searching for TV dinners, or some other type of instant food that requires no work. When he found them, he grabbed a couple of the cheapest and stomped over to check out. Each lane had a dozen or so people in it, of course, he angrily thought. The express lane only had about eight, so he raced over to jump in line before anyone else could.
         Standing in line, he tapped his foot intolerantly and crossed his arms. The people around him stared at him, whispering to each other, just loud enough so he could hear them.
         “I wonder what irked him.”
         “Kids these days, so rude. Nothing’s fast enough for them.”
         Brody clenched his teeth and balled his hands into fists, trying to control his aggravation. When it was finally his turn to be checked out, the clerk smiled a wide, annoying smile at him and attempted to start a friendly conversation. He ignored her stupid greetings.
         “Hurry up,” he snapped. He glanced around impatiently, and his eyes landed on a small girl in the lane beside him. He froze.
         It was Adelphie.
         She looked almost the same as the time he had last seen her, which was over two and a half years ago, except a little older. She had grown about a half foot taller, and her face had become a little thinner. As a matter of fact, her entire body had become thinner, almost as if she hadn’t been fed as well as she should. Just as he had imagined, her hair had grown longer, down to the middle of her back. It shone golden with its soft curls. She was a beautiful little lady.
         “Go bag the groceries,” the man she was standing with grunted at her. He was a scruffy man wearing a white t-shirt with a local bar’s logo on it and jeans. Brody had seen him before, but where? Suddenly it clicked. The man. The truck. The kid. When he was running! He then remembered why the truck outside was so familiar. It was the same truck!
         He watched as his sister walked over silently and began to put the food in the bags. She must have felt someone watching her. She looked up.
         Her mouth fell open just like her brother’s. They both stood frozen, staring at each other for a moment that seemed like it lasted an eternity. Suddenly, a look of pure terror crossed her features as she quickly looked over at the man, and then back down at the groceries that she returned to bagging. She glanced up at him with pleading, desperate eyes and looked down again. He heard a ripping noise and she placed her hand down near her hip for a second. Brody couldn’t figure out what she was doing. She seemed to be concentrating on something just behind the grocery bag.
         “That will be twenty-eight ninety-five, please.”
         The store clerk snapped him back into reality. He looked at her in a confused daze, and then realized what she was asking for. He handed her the money and went down to the end to bag his own groceries.
         He glanced over at his little sister who was just finishing bagging the last of the food. She picked up a full bag and turned to put it in the cart behind her. The bag slipped out of her hands and hit the ground, spilling a few cans over to where he was standing.
         “God, Del, could you be any more freakin’ clumsy? Clean up the mess you made!” spat the scruffy man.
         Brody reached down and picked up the few cans, and walked over to hand them to her. She looked up at him intensely, trying to send him a mental message. She reached for the cans when he held them out. Giving him a strong look, her soft hand swiftly and inconspicuously skimmed across his and slipped a small note into his hand, written on the corner of a brown paper bag. She had dropped the bag on purpose.
         “Thanks,” she said in a small voice.
         Understanding, he quickly hid the note in the pocket of his hoodie.
         “No problem, kid.”

                                       ♦♦♦

         He had immediately left Aldi’s and sprinted to his car. Sitting down in the driver’s seat, he had taken the note out of his pocket with shaking hands. Written in large, messy handwriting, that of a child’s, were his sister’s words.
         HELP ME BRODY.
         There was a sharp intake of breath. His heart began to pound. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He made a decision.
         He backed out of the parking spot slowly and deliberately, making it seem as if he was merely concerned about hitting something. He read over the license plate number of the truck over and over and over again. He had it memorized.
         Adrenaline spiking, he sped towards the police station.

                                       ♦♦♦

         “We have you surrounded!”
         Each police officer’s gun was pointed the same direction: at the small house at the end of a dead-end street. Brody was crouched behind a squad car, hiding next to the officer who had given him a ride to the scene. He liked the officer. He was a tall, middle-aged black man with kind eyes, and Brody was appreciative of the understanding and pure sympathy that he held.
         “Stay down, kid! I’m not having your death on my shoulders!” he roared to the youth at his side.
         Brody mumbled an apology and ducked his head down swiftly. All he wanted was for his sister to be retrieved safely, so it didn’t irk him. However, he had begun to wish that he hadn’t have called the police. He had missed his chance to rip this man apart and to rescue his sister by himself, through revenge.
         After about ten minutes of ferocious, roaring threats through the megaphone, the front door opened inwards. Everyone around the small house froze. It was too dark to see what was happening through the door and inside the small house. Brody’s heart was palpitating so loudly, he was sure everyone around him could hear it. He held his breath. Anticipation and tension grew with each passing second.
         Suddenly, a large hand roughly shoved Adelphie, who was crying desperately, outside onto the porch. Brody’s mind went blank with white-hot rage, and he stood up in wrathful protest. Adelphie’s eyes snapped to the source of the movement, and seeing that it was her brother, expanded to big, blue moons. The moment the forceful hand released its painful grip on her arm and slipped back inside, she bolted across the small yard towards her brother.
         Brody’s eyes grew wide, as well, and he moved out from behind the vehicle, gathered up his weeping sister into his arms and pulled her into safety. He squatted down behind the police car with her wrapped around him, and he continued to watch the scene for anxiety of what would happen next.
         “Come out with your hands up, now!”
         The scruffy man shuffled into the doorway with his arms above his head. The police officers sprinted forwards and hastily slapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. As they rested for a moment after the scuffle, Brody gently placed his still-sobbing sister to the side and stood up again.
         This is my chance, he thought menacingly. He can’t escape. They’ve got ‘em in cuffs. He stood for a second, relishing in the thoughts of bashing the kidnapper’s head in. He was sure that the officers would understand his fury, and let him go for awhile before they stopped him. He took a forceful step towards the man, cracking his knuckles and flexing his arms.
         “His old daughter fell and hit her head.”
         Brody paused and his head snapped around, searching for the small voice that had spoken. It was Adelphie. She had been looking up at him with her bright blue eyes, full of innocence. She reached up and took hold of his hand.
         “She got hurt and the graveyard took her away from him. He wanted me to be his new daughter, that’s all. Don’t hurt him, Brody. He’s just sad.”
         The man was sitting on the bottom step with the officers around him, with a few glistening tears sneaking their way down his face. He was staring at the ground and not moving, or making any attempt at all to fight off the officers.
         Brody felt an odd feeling in his gut, something he just couldn’t explain. He was confused and couldn’t understand what feeling he was experiencing. Suddenly, it hit him.
         He actually felt sorry for the man.
         This man, though he had caused Brody’s problems, was in the exact position that Brody was in. He had lost a little girl who was obviously the light of his life, just as Adelphie was to him. Brody automatically realized that the kidnapper was no less insane than he was; though the man had taken in to an extreme by breaking the law, for which he will be punished, Brody had taken it to a different extreme of letting revenge control him and his life. He suddenly had a clarity in his mind that had been absent for three years. He turned around, smiled, and held out his hands to his sister.
         “Adelphie, let’s go home.”