A Price Worth Paying

A/N - Hello readers. I've had this story on my laptop for well over a year and more now as I've been in two minds about whether I'd ever actually submit it or not. This story does deal with some rather heavy subject matter at times.

Because of that reason, reader discretion is advised as even I believe that some might find it upsetting. I've tried to deal with everything realistically, but please bear in mind this is also a work of fiction. I've also tried to treat certain subject matters as sensitively as possible at the same time. However, due to this being a work of fiction, I have taken liberties at times with how certain matters would be dealt with.

Keep in mind that the courtroom drama is complete fiction. I generally try and ground my stories in some sort of reality but I've only ever been in a courtroom once (as part of a jury) so I don't really know all the procedures. So some of it is all made up for entertainment purposes (probably an amalgamation of Australian, British and US court processes at best...?)

Usual caveats. All editing and reviewing done by the author with Microsoft Word. Spelling is usually spot on. Australian / British standard English. Definitely the occasional typo. Grammar can be ropey at times, but it's been a long time since I sat in a classroom. All mistakes owned up to by the author. Please remember this is just fantasy and I'm an amateur.

Comments and feedback appreciated as always.

*****

The Verdict

"Please rise."

I stood up alongside my lawyer, hearing everyone get to their feet behind me. I knew the court room was packed, standing room only. My mother and sister sat right behind me, as did my grandparents, my mothers' parents. Friends filled in the place as well. Despite what I'd done, despite what I was about to be convicted of, I had plenty of support from family, friends, even parts of the community, the media at large. The judge walked in, taking his place before we were asked to be seated. Once everything was settled, the judge asked, "Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"It has, Your Honour," the court clerk replied.

"May the defendant please stand." I stood up alongside my lawyer. Once I was standing upright, the judge nodded at the court clerk. "Foreperson of the jury, on one count of attempted murder, how do you find?"

"We find the defendant not guilty, Your Honour."

I breathed a slight sigh of relief at that. I'd stated categorically I hadn't tried to kill him. Witnesses agreed with that too.

"Foreperson of the jury, on one count of assault occasioning grievous bodily harm, how do you find?"

"We find the defendant guilty, Your Honour."

I'll admit, I smiled. I fucking smiled. The only reason I'd gone through the whole charade was because of everything that had gone on previously. It was the only reason I'd pled not guilty to begin with. I heard Mum sniffing behind me, glancing back to see my sister do nothing but smile. She knew I'd gone through everything for her. "Mister Fraser."

"Yes, Your Honour," I replied, turning back to the judge.

"Due to the nature of the crime, you will be remanded in custody until sentencing. That will take place in two weeks. Due to the nature of the crime, I must warn that you will be receiving a custodial sentence of indeterminate length at this present time. Reports need to be submitted before I make my final decision. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Honour."

"Very well. Bailiff, you may escort Mister Fraser back to the cells."

I'd chatted with him before entering the court and he gave me a few seconds with my family. Mum hugged me tightly, kissing my cheek. "I'm proud of you," she whispered, "And you'll have a home once you're out."

Hugging my sister, all she did was thank me. Everything I'd done, everything I was about to go through, it was all for her. "I love you," she whispered. She kissed my cheek before I was handcuffed, hands behind my back, and led away. There was more than one cheer as I turned back and left with one last grin on my face. They all knew why I'd done it. Led towards a police van, I was placed in the rear compartment, a police officer joining me to keep watch. I leaned back against the side and relaxed. I had expected a guilty verdict. I'd wanted it. "Not often a guilty person smiles, Michael," the officer whispered, obviously not wanting to be overheard.

"I'm guilty as fuck. I'm just glad the first charge was not guilty."

"Trust me, there are plenty of us that might not agree with your methods, but I've got a little girl. I have no idea how I'd react to something like that."

I met his eyes and nodded. "I hope you never have to deal with it."

"You'll be looking at a few years after what you did to him."

"Fucker deserved it. And, being honest, if I had to go back and choose, I'd do it again. Don't feel an ounce of fucking guilt or remorse."

"Again, plenty of us agree. We just can't say it publicly. Laws. Society. All that." He sighed. "Guess it's just a case of how long you're going to serve."

"Don't care. As long as my sister is safe and can somehow get on with her life, that's all that matters to me."

"Despite what you did, you've got a good heart, Michael. Media still isn't sure what to make of you. But I'm glad you had the support you had in there."

"So am I."

******

The Past

The life of my mother, my sister and myself was hardly idyllic growing up. Our father was a cruel, vindictive bully. I was only five years old when I first witnessed domestic violence. The first time I saw him hit my mother stirred something in me even at a young age. The urge to protect those I love. I went after my father, trying to push him. He backhanded me across the face, sending me sprawling. I'm sure he expected me to cry. All he got in reply was a little five-year-old looking up at him with hate in his eyes. Mum screamed, of course, and that made him shut her up. I still remember the thud she made against the wall...

But I'd earned his ire now, and I was routinely 'punished' for the most minor of indiscretions. His favourite method was the belt. Legs. Arms. Back. Arse. Didn't matter, long as he hit me. And the older I got, the more he hit me. The more he hit me, the angrier I got. By the age of ten, I almost taunted him. He no doubt wanted me to cower with fear, but even at that age, I knew if he hit me, he left my mother and sister alone. I still walked into the kitchen of a morning to see my mother in tears, new bruises on her thin body. I tried to step in every time. My father wasn't a broad or tall man. He was under six-foot and wasn't muscular. More of a wiry strength. It pissed him off that I never stopped, didn't cower in fear at the sight of him. The thing that kept me going was the hate, the anger, and also the pain. I endured it for my family.

He was drawing blood by twelve, ensuring the buckle hit me just right. I had the scars to prove it already. Mum would find me in my bedroom with blood on my sheets more than once. I asked Mum about leaving all the time, but she was afraid that he'd kill us all if we tried. He'd threatened constantly about her calling the police. I saw him holding a knife more than once. Her parents helped where they could, but it seemed my father held all the cards. The house was not his, as far as I knew at the time, but he ruled it like it was his kingdom. Mum and my sister lived in constant fear, and I did all I could to ensure he left them alone. When he was sober, he was just about tolerable. Three beers in and...

At twelve, my grandfather took me to the side. He knew what I'd done nearly my entire life. Now it was time to get ready. "Son, I'm going to prepare you for what it to come. I've got a friend, a good friend, who knows how to fight. Not just boxing, I mean the sort of fighting that will help you incapacitate a man, even one taller, stronger, fitter than yourself. You father is a cruel man. Family and friends have tried to step in, but your mother... She won't leave him, insisting there is still good in him somewhere. Are you willing to learn to protect your family?"

"Yes, sir."

He ruffled my hair. "Good boy. His name is Steven. He knows all about you, about what's happening. He promised to help you finish this."

For two years until I was fourteen, I learned how to fight. Every afternoon, I'd go learn basic skills before moving on to more advanced techniques. I hadn't gone through my growth spurt yet, my father was still taller than me, but in addition to fighting, he helped me get stronger. As I was still developing, he made sure it wasn't too heavy, but I did bulk up slightly, just enough to make the difference.

I was fourteen when it got uglier than ever. I came home to find my mother cowering on the floor, my sister in tears on the couch, and my father ranting and raving. Seeing me enter the house, his eyes narrowed. Before he could move, I strode forward and put my fist into his gut. He doubled over. For a fourteen-year-old, I knew where to hit and I hit hard. "You little shit," he croaked. Then he swung, hitting my cheek. Sent me to the floor, feeling my vision blacken. I only came around when I felt my hair being pulled. Lifting me up, he slammed me against the dinner table and returned the hit. "How does it feel, you little cunt?" I couldn't answer him, but what did concern me was hearing the rattle of utensils, and the scream of my mother.

"Don't you dare, Robert!" she screamed.

"Shut the fuck up or you'll be next." I managed to lift myself in time to see my father approach me with a knife. To my surprise, I didn't feel afraid as he placed the tip of the knife under my eye. "You're a pathetic piece of shit," he murmured, smelling the alcohol on his breath, "Complete and utter disappointment. Best thing I could do is end your pathetic life now."

Soon as he removed the knife from my skin, I kicked him in the balls as hard as I could. His immediate reply was a slash across my chest. That did cause me to cry out as it really fucking hurt. I kicked again, definitely catching him in the crotch as I heard the slap of my shoe. He slashed again, this time lower down my body. Then he managed to stand upright enough to clock me straight across the jaw. I saw stars then nothing but darkness. Thankfully, I did hear sirens before I passed out completely.

I woke up later in hospital. My jaw was in agony. I looked down to see my shirt was gone and bandages on my chest. "Mum," I managed to whisper. She turned around, seeing tear-stained eyes as she walked over to take my hand, gently squeezing it, "Becca?"

"She's safe now, Mikey. She's safe thanks to you. We both are."

"Robert?" I hadn't called him 'Dad' in years.

"On the run. Police are doing all they can to find him." She kissed my cheek. "Thank you, Mikey. Thank you."

I was in hospital for a few days. How my jaw wasn't broken was a miracle. Apparently didn't hit me hard enough, but hitting my head on the tiled floor did give me one hell of a concussion. I was the talk of the school for a few days, turning up battered and bruised. No surprise that very few students fucked with me after that. Not after hearing what I could do and also the pain I was willing to endure. With Robert having disappeared, Mum could finally relax for the first time in her life. She was already working as a nurse, and set about restoring relationships my father had destroyed due to his domineering behaviour. I had a growth spurt at sixteen, going from around five-six to just over six-foot in a year or so. It was almost like I woke up one morning with an extra six inches in height. I towered over Mum and my sister. Every time we went out, I kept watch. I didn't trust a soul but, more importantly, I had no idea if or when he'd be back. They both knew and loved me even more for it.

I still trained with Steven every day, and once I hit sixteen, we started with proper weight training. I confessed to concern that my father was still out there, and wanted to be prepared, just in case he came back. For eighteen months, we boxed, fought, brawled, wrestled. He was a jack of all trades, knew plenty of fighting styles. He was a broad man himself, pushing me every day to do that little bit more. It was almost like some sort of army training at time. Push ups. Sit ups. Pull ups. But when I looked in the mirror, I still saw all the scars. I wore them as badges of honour, I'd earned them protecting those who meant most to me. But I always kept them covered. No-one else needed to see. They didn't need to understand what I'd endured for my family.

Robert returned when I was seventeen. He banged on the door, demanding entrance. Mum had obviously changed the locks. She hid in her bedroom with my sister as I answered the door. I now stood taller than him. Definitely broader. I punched him straight in the face without saying a word. That sent him sprawling onto his arse as I stalked after him. Then he pulled a knife on me. "Come to finish the job, you little fucker," he warned.

It was some sort of switchblade though he could still stab me, still kill me. But Steven had spent years training me by then. I just watched his feet, watched the blade. Anticipated. Adrenaline surging. Waited for him to move. Disarming him was easy, and once the knife hit the ground, I hit him again. And again. And again. Put his head into the side of his car door and left him sitting against it. It was perhaps the first time in his life someone had stood up to him and done damage in return. Now it was his turn to cower in fear. This time, it was my turn to hold the knife to his eye. "I could kill you right now, Robert," I said softly, "And all I would do is spend half a year in juvenile before I was released. After the years of abuse, I reckon a court would probably find me innocent considering what you did to my family." I heard the approaching sirens. I flicked the blade closed and threw it on the ground some distance away. "But you're a piece of shit and not even worth that." I walked backwards and leaned against the tree in our front yard until the police cars arrived.

It was an open and shut case. He was smart enough to just plead guilty considering the years of evidence built up.

He's still in prison. He'll be out one day. If he wants to come again, I'll finish the job next time. No guilt. No remorse. Third strike.

******

The Crime

Our lives changed forever on June 15th, my sister's most of all. We were in our final year at high school, having turned eighteen quite early in the year. I was one of the oldest kids in school, still teasing my sister that I was two hours older than her. She'd always been my little sister, whether through size, as she was rather short, and I was born first. Though now one of the tallest and broadest kids, I was a quiet kid. No real surprise considering my life until then. I faded into the background. Despite the turmoil of home, my sister came out of her shell once Robert left. The sweet girl who spent half her time petrified at home turned into quite the extrovert, life of the party in many ways. The fear still lingered; it would probably take years of therapy that Mum simply couldn't afford. But she knew that she had her big brother to protect her, just like he had his entire life.

It was a Saturday night. I was at home playing video games. I should have been studying but Mum was at work and I just wanted to chill out. I looked around the living room to see it had completely changed. My grandparents had offered to redecorate the entire house, erasing any sign that Robert Fraser had ever lived there. I wasn't expecting Mum home for a few hours yet so was surprised when I received a phone call from her.

"Hello, Mum."

"Mikey, can you come to the hospital?"

Her tone disturbed me. It was completely empty. "What's wrong, Mum?"

"It's your sister."

My stomach dropped. But her tone suggested she was hurt, not dead. "Mum, what's wrong?"

"I'll tell you when you're get here. Please, Mikey. Just get here as soon as you can."

I got to the hospital as quickly as any ambulance. They knew me by sight as I often dropped off and picked up Mum. Finding her in the ward, she turned and burst into tears, hugging me tightly. I couldn't see my sister. Didn't get the chance to ask what was wrong before she led me into a room, closing the door. Anyone who would have watched through the glass would have seen a six-foot-one young man sag into his five-four, rather petite mother, in tears at what he was told.

I'd failed in my duty to protect my little sister.

They kept her in for observation that night. I went home feeling nothing but guilt. I dreaded to think what she was feeling. Mum called me the next afternoon to pick her up. The sweet young girl I had known was gone. The only saving grace was that she didn't cower from me, accepting my soft hug, almost sighing with relief when she hugged me back. "I'm on a late shift, Mikey," Mum said, "Tried to swap but, you know, staffing issues and shit."

"I'll look after her."

I couldn't find any words to say on the drive home. I wasn't equipped to deal with it. I don't think anyone really is. The best I could do was offer my hand. She held it the entire way home. Escorting her inside, she said she was going to go for a shower. Seeing her walk away, my heart shattered. I set about making us some dinner, at the very least, noticing half an hour passed rather quickly. I could hear the shower still running, and her muffled sobs from behind the door. I found her still dressed, the water now freezing cold, her teeth chattering. Ever so gently, I picked her up and carried her to her bedroom, ensuring I grabbed a towel. She stared blankly as I helped dry her off. I asked her each time if I was okay to take off something as she was freezing cold. She returned a small nod each time. I didn't remove her underwear and made sure she was covered head to toe in warm clothing once I was done.

"Dinner?" I asked, offering my hand. She took it again, leading her to the living room. Sitting her on the couch, I grabbed a bowl of food each before joining her.

"Mikey..."

"Yes, Becca?"

"I want you to deal with him for me."

I swallowed what I was chewing. "Did you tell the police who it was?"

"Not yet. They have the kit and the evidence, but they don't know who it is yet. I want you to deal with it for me."

"It... Will it..."

She looked at me, almost shuddering at the blank look in her eyes. "You have never failed me, Mikey. I know you're thinking that. You weren't there because I know that isn't your scene. That's why I didn't ask you to join me. But if you were, I know you would have stopped it from happening. The fact no-one else stepped in speaks volumes about them, not you. You're my brother, and I love you. I love you more than anyone."

I took another mouthful before asking, "How far? How far do you want me to go?"

"Destroy his life. I know you can fight, Mikey. I know you can hurt people. Mum and me, we know we're always safe with you. You're our guardian angel. Have been since I was a little girl." She looked at me again. "I will be back in school on Wednesday. He'll be there, of course. I want you to sort it out then. A public display. I want the whole school to see him destroyed."

"I'm an adult, Becca, as are you," I gently pulled her closer, kissing her forehead. "If I do this, I go as far as I know I can, do what I am capable of doing, I go to prison. It won't matter what happened to you."

"I know. Are you willing to do that for me?"

"In a heartbeat. Tell me his name." She whispered into my ear and my heart turned to ice. It was a name I almost expected. I'd heard the rumours like everyone else. "It will be sorted on Wednesday, Becca. I promise."