Vengeance

Sunlight...

How long had it been since he'd seen the sun?

Not the bleak sunlight that beat down on the prison yard every day; that was light, but not true sunlight. Real sunlight carried freedom; he knew this now. Even as he stood buffeted by the icy November winds, he stood in the sun as if there was no place he would rather be.

It had been almost seven months since the last rays of true sunlight caught his eyes. He had played a rugby game that day. Rugby was his favorite sport to play, and at 6'5" and a lean 235 pounds, he had both the size and skill for it. As the light of freedom glistened off his bald head and cast a shadow behind a body that was not much lighter, he took a deep breath as he remembered the events of that day, and more importantly that night.

He had gotten a call from his married lover later on that evening, asking if he could spare some time away for her. Of course he could, he always could. He loved her as much as he would allow himself to, always remembering that she was a married woman and could not fall in love *with* her.

"Dammit, Lynette," he whispered, "why the fuck did you do it?" A small tear fell, caught by his dark glasses as he walked through the exit gate.

He knew who her husband was; he worked at a local hospital near his house as an EMT. They didn't know each other personally, but she had volunteered the information one night when he had asked how she managed so much free time.

This particular night he had been called to a particularly nasty scene, leaving Lynette at home alone. Normally he drove his own ambulance when he was on call (leaving her free to drive over to her lover's house across town), but this was supposed to be his off night, so he had to drive the couple's lone car. Oddly enough, he had felt no guilt or remorse for fucking another man's wife in his own bed; when they were together, it was like her husband didn't even exist.

He arrived to find her in a white tube dress that stretched from the top of her delectable breasts to barely covering her gorgeous ass. The garment was a blatant contrast to her caramel skin, which she always kept so soft and moisturized just for him. She was forty-five years old to his twenty-six, hitting her sexual peak while her fifty-one-year-old husband had long surpassed his.

He remembered pleasing her for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only half an hour because she didn't want him staying too long for fear her husband might come home. He stayed long enough to suck a couple of orgasms out of her before finally giving in to her desires.

Over the year they had been seeing each other she had grown to love everything about him, but his sex was the pathway to all of that. He was huge; there was no other way to say it. Jutting out twelve full inches past his groin and six inches around, she craved the feeling of his magic stick inside her constantly. These cravings only intensified when she lay with her husband, who was maybe eight inches long but had never acquired the skills to use them.

He never just fucked her either, unless they were on a time crunch. He took his time and made love to her, taking the time to caress the most sensitive and delicate parts of her womanhood. Her entire neighborhood had to have known she was sleeping around, based on the screams of sheer ecstasy she always let out when with him.

He left her completely satisfied that night, as he did every night, and he drove back home reveling in the scent of her climactic essence that permeated his very being. This particular night, however, he had guests waiting for him in the form of a uniformed squad of police officers. He was immediately arrested and charged with breaking into and robbing a nearby convenience store. As the cops took him to the station, he was certain he would be released immediately. The store he was charged with robbing was the one he worked at.

Unfortunately, he was wrong. He owned a registered and licensed pistol, which had been somehow found at the scene with (naturally) his fingerprints on it. That was all the prosecution needed; even though they could not definitively place him at the scene, they argued he wasn't at home based upon the fact that he was arrested returning home.

He was given a chance to defend himself, but he could not for fear of ruining Lynette's life. It seemed so ironic; he could be vindicated of one crime, if he only confessed to another. To that end, he kept silent even as the judge handed down his sentence: ten years in a federal prison. As he was taken away, he glanced at the back of the courtroom. There stood his boss nervously shaking hands with Lynette's husband.

He remembered business at the store had been on a decline recently, but with the insurance money from the robbery the owner had been able to get back to black.

At that moment, he knew. Beyond the shadow of a doubt he knew that he had been set up.

Somehow, Lynette's husband must have found out about the two of them. It must have been the key. The key he had given her to his apartment... he must have found it, used it to get the gun, then worked in concert with his boss to stage the robbery.

Of course, none of this ever came to light. The only reason he was now a free man was that Lynette had found out about her husband's actions. She e-mailed dozens of pictures to his attorney, giving him an alibi for the night of the robbery. It turned out to be her last act of this earth; no sooner had she hit the 'Send' button on the message than her husband walked in and confronted her. In a fit of rage he killed her, and then committed suicide. He had given his life to save hers, now she had done the same for him.

The sadness he felt ripping at his heart now gave way to rage as he boarded the bus back to his hometown.

Eventually he arrived at the bus terminal. Aside from a few staffers it was empty, resonating with the emptiness he seemingly felt in his own soul. He caught a taxi back to his apartment, where he found a package waiting for him addressed from the city. He opened the box; inside was a key to a storage unit where all of his belongings were, along with a letter of apology and instructions on how to retrieve his vehicle. Ignoring the letters, he focused on the key. A bloody haze seemed to cloud his vision.

He went down to the garage and got his car back, which he drove to the storage unit. From it retrieved a single item, the pistol that had damned him seven months before. He had everything taken from him by the greed of one man; now it was his turn to take back...