Pay the Price, page 1
Pay the Price
Pay the Price
Dstar Publishing LLC
Copyright © 2023 by Samantha Gail
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Printing, 2023
For Kathleen Workman;
Thank you for believing in me before I could believe in myself.
Reader Discretion
Reader discretion is advised. This book contains mature themes and graphic violence suitable for adults 18+.
If while reading this book the content triggers feelings or memories with which you struggle, please speak with a professional.
The national hotline in the United States for mental health can be reached at 988 . You can also reach the Crisis Text Line by texting HOME to 741741 for free 24/7 crisis counseling.
“Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.”
-English writer, Samuel Johnson
One
1990
He watched her closely from above the newspaper clutched in his hand and periodically sipped from the black coffee on the table. She continued to greet customers as they entered the coffee shop, upselling the new cinnamon bread they could sample with their morning joes. Her laughter filled the room when one of her regulars cracked a joke about the “spring breeze” blowing outside during what was one of the worst storms of the season.
This was exactly why Duke was intoxicated with her. Even a stuffy joke from a middle-aged man in a cheap suit elicited a spark that only she could provide. No one was too small for her to notice while everyone deserved a bright grin and kind word. She took the job requirement of making every customer feel special and welcomed to heart, which had resulted in Duke’s presence in the coffee bar every day for the past seven weeks. No matter how long he lingered, no matter how many refills he requested, Alessa’s cheerful reply, “Coming right up!” caused an animalistic ache in the pit of his stomach. He did not know how much longer he could wait to possess her.
Watching her had become his sole obsession, and he lived for the moments when he could steal her attention away from the other guests. If he knew how to manage it, Duke would lock the doors and prevent anyone else from entering the shop. He longed to see Alessa alone and away from the prying eyes of the world. She was meant for him-that certainty was as strong as his instinct to breath. Alessa would forever change his life.
“You’re not gonna hurt my feelings by turning down a sample of this cinnamon bread, are you?” Alessa’s hazel eyes had a mischievous twinkle in them as she extended a basket across the table to Duke. He was so lost in his thoughts he did not see her approach. He silently chided himself on his carelessness. He did not like to ever be caught by surprise.
“Just the coffee, as always,” Duke replied softly. He stared intensely at her face, trying to memorize every freckle, every crease that created her beautiful glow. Truly, with her light blonde hair surrounding her thin face, Duke wondered if others could see the halo hovering just above her. He had never ordered anything other than coffee, yet every morning she attempted to entice him to eat one of their many pastries or sandwiches. He found it endearing that she continued to offer despite his multitude of refusals. It was yet another reason Alessa captivated his attention, for no one else had ever displayed that kind of fortitude with him.
She smiled even brighter at his rejection. “One of these days I’ll find out what you like!” She offered a quick wink and then returned to her place behind the counter to restock the muffins on display. Duke absentmindedly turned another page on the newspaper, not bothering to read a single word. Her words echoed in his head.
He intended to show her exactly what he liked.
Two
2011
“You’re assigned the patients in Room 212, 214, and 216 today,” Mary, the charge nurse, instructed. “And don’t let me catch you out back smoking again all day!”
Stella rolled her eyes and grabbed the charts Mary placed on the counter in front of her. Mary was just being a bitch because her husband said she had to stop smoking. Stella would love to tell Mary where she could shove it, but jobs that paid this well to be a glorified babysitter didn’t come around very often in this town. Instead, she headed down the hall to check on the patients in her assigned rooms.
The man in Room 212 was sitting up in bed and eating what looked like oatmeal a cat puked up. Stella tried hard not to pucker her nose at the smell, but he seemed to like it, so who was she to argue? She double-checked his chart and informed him that they would be in to transport him down to dialysis in an hour. The man nodded without really looking at her, staring blankly out the window and chewing on the vomit/oatmeal mess in his bowl. Hopefully all the patients would be this easy today.
Room 214 proved to be an even easier case as his charts indicated that nearly every hour of every day was filled with some kind of therapy.
“I can handle this,” Stella muttered to herself. Her fingers itched along the outside of her back pocket where her cigarettes were waiting for her first break of the day. Sixteen-hour shifts were far too long for a nurse aide to be much good to anyone, but in a state facility like this, there were never enough employees for the number of patients hospitalized.
Rounding the corner, Stella found Room 216 in an alcove that looked as if it was originally intended to be a janitor’s closet. The room itself was small enough that she momentarily questioned if it was a closet that was simply mislabeled with a room number. However, a small hospital bed was pushed against the far wall, with a rectangular window at the top illuminating the tiny room with dismal gray light. Stella could see the peeling roof of the hospital from where she stood in the doorway, but nothing more than that. She approached the patient’s bed with caution as the room was eerily quiet. Although the man in the bed was connected to several different machines attached to the wall behind him, not a single one produced a sound of any kind. The man’s dark brown eyes darted to her face, questioning her appearance. They widened slightly as she stepped closer to his bedside.
“What’s your name?” Stella asked. The man’s eyes glanced down to the chart at the end of his bed and back to her.
“What, cat got your tongue?” she said. Silence continued to envelope them until she rolled her eyes again with impatience. Snatching his chart, Stella saw that the man was in fact a quadriplegic and completely unable to move.
“No one knows if he can actually speak or not,” Mary suddenly said from behind, causing Stella to jump and drop the man’s chart on the ground. “Never made a peep since they brought him in.”
“So what am I supposed to do with him all day?” Stella asked with irritation.
Mary shrugged. “Try to get him to talk. Keep him alive, I guess. He’s not really one we worry about here.” She turned on her heel and left. Probably to go antagonize another poor soul, Stella thought bitterly.
Turning around the room, Mary’s words sunk in as Stella observed the dust gathered on the solitary chair next to the door and the cobwebs stretching across the corners of the room. Clearly housekeeping didn’t even bother with this patient anymore. Stella picked up the chart and read the man’s name aloud, “Avery Winslow.” The man had no reaction but continued to gaze at her with an unwavering stare that made Stella feel uncomfortable.
“Doesn’t your family ever come to visit you and raise hell about this shit?” Stella asked. She could not imagine a complaint of this magnitude going unnoticed with upper management.
Further inspection of his chart revealed that there were no family members listed. “So you’re a loner, like me,” Stella said. “It’s much easier that way, believe me. Although hell, you already know that by now.”
The chart didn’t contain much more information. For all Stella knew, the man had every known ailment medicine could identify. Avery might as well not even be in the hospital.
Stella grabbed a pillowcase from the bottom drawer of a small cabinet in the opposite corner and wiped off the chair. She pulled the chair closer to Avery and plopped herself down, propping her non-work approved black combat boots on the bed. A quick glance out the door revealed the interior of the room could not be seen from the hospital hallway beyond. Stella whipped out a cigarette, turning on the air vent as she did so. “You don’t mind if I smoke, right? Not gonna rat me out?”
Avery’s eyes bored into her face and Stella interpreted this as acquiescence. She lit the cigarette and inhaled a slow drag, enjoying the burning feeling traveling through her lungs.
How did I wind up like this? she wondered.
Three
1990
Another week had gone by with Alessa’s kindness radiating to his soul. She had never noticed, but Duke began to follow her outside of work, too. He knew about her roommate and their two-bedroom apartment near the university, Alessa’s daily morning run through campus, and her preference for Chinese takeout from the restaurant at the end of her block. She was a creature of habit, blissfully oblivious to the man stalking her every move. He even managed to watch her through her bedroom window one night when she forgot to pull the blinds all the way down.
The way he felt watching her undress and massage lotion into her body caused Duke to touch himself right there in the middle of the sidewalk. His need to possess her was nearly overwhelming him and he could not believe his own recklessness. Mother had never explained the physical man
His poor mother was home alone, but that was a guilt trip for another time. He could not allow thoughts of her condition to permeate his limited time with Alessa. Seeing her from a distance, never being allowed to touch her, to love her in the ways in which she deserved already served as a special kind of torment. Mother would use other methods to punish him for his disobedience, though he wanted to make the argument that dark magic was already at work.
Mother had warned him for as far back as he could remember about the evil that dictated the world outside their home. It was why they remained together in the farmhouse he grew up in despite his ventures into town-he was too scared to leave the safety of Mother’s arms. She taught him about dark magic, the hateful, sinful power that infiltrated others and let them to do wicked things. But Mother assured him that she would always protect him as long as he obeyed her. He believed it, and had never had a reason to question her. She would not be happy about his relationship with Alessa and he dreaded the day he had to tell her.
Duke’s muscles tensed as a young man with tanned skin and gelled blonde hair walked into the coffee shop. Alessa’s smile could light up the room when she saw him. A small squeal escaped her lips and she rushed around the counter to throw her arms around him. Who the fuck was this?!
“You told me you wouldn’t be back until next week!” she gushed to the man, her hands roaming through his hair and down his neck. His cream-colored shirt was tight against his back and Duke could see the faint line of a black tattoo through the thin material. The man pulled Alessa in tighter so her entire body was pressed against his. Duke’s vision began to darken around the edges.
The man smiled. “The project finished early, so I hopped on the first plane I could get.” He leaned in to kiss her and Duke’s fist slammed into the mug on the table, knocking it to the floor. Alessa immediately pulled from the man’s embrace to clean up the spill.
Duke glared at him while she wiped the coffee off the floor with a rag hastily grabbed from the kitchen. It felt as though the rage building inside him would set off an atomic bomb. The man did not seem to notice, watching Alessa intently as she threw away the broken pieces of the ceramic mug. “Let me get you a fresh cup,” she told Duke.
Returning back behind the counter, the man stepped towards her. “I hate that you work here, sweetheart. Now that my project is over, please just stay home. This is beneath you.”
The pompous tone to his voice set Duke’s teeth on edge. This man had no clue what Alessa was capable of, the warmth and light she radiated, and how, like a moth to a flame, Duke could not stay away if he tried.
She merely gave him a patient smile and said, “We’ll talk about this later.”
She returned to Duke’s table, a new mug filled with steaming hot coffee in hand. “Are you okay over here? Did any of that coffee spill on you?” It took Duke a moment to register it was he to whom she spoke.
“No,” he shook his head and sent another glare in the man’s direction. “Who is that?”
Alessa giggled as she glanced back. “Oh, him? He’s my fiancé, Harrison. He won’t bother you, I promise.” She brushed her hair behind her ears and her face flushed slightly as she met Duke’s eyes. He wondered if he had anything to do with her reaction or if it was all Harrison’s doing. She returned to the counter and engaged Harrison in conversation, fully bending over to lean towards his words. Although Duke could not see from his angle in the shop, he was certain that Alessa’s voluptuous breasts were on full display for the bastard. Duke gripped the newspaper in his hand so tightly that the pages began to tear.
He could not hear their whispered conversation, but Duke continued to glare at the pair through slitted eyes. He had watched Alessa nearly every day for two months and never once had he seen a ring on any finger. She had never gone anywhere with this man, and never once indicated she was in any kind of relationship, let alone one committed to marriage. This revelation had him seething and greatly complicated Duke’s plans.
Upon further examination, Harrison’s profile began to look vaguely familiar. Duke could not quite place where he had seen him before, but there was something recognizable in his features. No matter the level of familiarity, Harrison was a bug that must be squashed. An interference of this kind would not prevent Duke from uniting with Alessa. Of that, he was certain.
Four
2011
“So what did you do to wind up in here?” Stella asked the silent patient. She had smoked through half a pack of cigarettes and scoured his room for anything interesting to entertain herself. Every surface was covered with a heavy layer of dust. There wasn't so much as a change of clothing in any of the drawers. Her other patients had long gone on to their various appointments, but in a room without a view or even a book, there was little to occupy her time. Sheer boredom had led her to inquisitively pepper him with questions, though Avery’s mouth never opened in an attempt to respond. He continued to watch her, rarely blinking, in a way that unsettled her.
The cloudy gray light filtering in through the window reminded Stella of one of her foster homes, the third home she was placed in, but the home that probably had the most lasting impact. It was the only one that stuck out clearly in her memory, a small farmhouse in rural Ohio, which was often shrouded in cloudy gray days the same as the weather currently outside the window. There were five foster children there at the time, including Stella, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Barton and their three children. Their biological children were treated far better than the foster kids. By that time, Stella had spent long enough in the system to know that was always how families operated. Foster kids were dispensable, a dime a dozen, constantly rotating through homes and hands. The Barton's were no different, using foster kids as a free labor force to care for their farm animals and clean their barn. The days were long, filled with cow shit and arduous work, and for the other children, each night led to an exhausted sleep from working in the fields all day. This was never the case for Stella.
Even now Stella could smell the faint wisp of whiskey and tobacco from Mr. Barton’s stale breath as he hovered his body over her in the tool shed. She shook her head as the fear gripped her heart again, refusing to allow the memory to consume her in the present.
Stella grabbed Avery’s chart again, though she had read through it more than eight times so far. Other than the obvious limitations of his paralysis, he actually had few health issues listed. It was hard to determine medical issues when the patient never communicated them. All the other patients in the hospital would complain if they got so much as a papercut because it meant a visit to the doctor rather than sitting in their bed.
She had been surprised to discover Avery had been in the same room for nearly 20 years. I would rather scratch my own eyes out, she thought.
Although Stella had not worked at the hospital for very long, she had only been in this particular unit for a few short weeks. The reassignment was meant to “temper her rebellious spirit,” according to the memo on file with Human Resources. Apparently working with terminal patients was supposed to reduce the number of complaints Stella received while simultaneously allowing the hospital to retain an employee, a rarity at the moment. She had no desire to kiss up to anyone in this unit either, and so far everyone was exactly the same: inflated egos that demanded reverence. Stella longed to be the one holding the pin that made all their big heads pop.
Still, it wasn’t a bad gig, all things considered. She had been emancipated from the foster care system at 16-years-old after rushing through her GED and a state tested nurse aide program. The judge agreed it was in everyone’s best interest for Stella to finally be on her own and responsible for herself. They meant it as reality check, but the lesson had been for them. Stella thrived on her own and succeeded in supporting herself legally without any further run ins with law enforcement. She would rather jump off the Golden Gate Bridge than ever risk going back to jail. One of the only things she ever fought for in her life was to have her juvenile record remain sealed. She had not had a single incident since.
