Ian Strock - Living It Is the Best Revenge

Illustration by Mike Aspengren

Mark was walking to the subway station at a brisk pace. It was late, and he wanted to get home.

The sidewalks were wet from the rain, but fortunately, it had stopped before he left the office, since he’d forgotten to bring—

His back was on fire!

Then he felt cold as ice.

He dropped his briefcase, and felt the sidewalk rush up at him. Then a hand rolled him over onto his back, and he saw a shaggy- young man with a bandanna tied over his nose and mouth. The young man was holding a shiny black knife.

Mark tried to say something, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

The young man checked each pocket, removed Mark’s wallet, and started to walk away. Then he stopped, turned back, and wiped the bloody knife on Mark’s jacket.

Mark moaned in pain, and tried to call for help.

The sound of footsteps brought him back to himself.

A woman screamed, and a man hurried out of sight. He returned moments later and said, “Lie still. An ambulance is coming. You’re going to be all right.”

Mark’s first ambulance ride was a confusion of sights and sounds as he faded in and out of consciousness. The paramedic stabbing his arm with a needle. The siren. The ambulance lurching from side to side. The paramedic screaming “Faster, Joe! He won’t hang on much longer!”

Then the flickering of light and not light in his eyes as he was wheeled into and through a hospital. Then, a black gas mask came down over his face.

“Mark, can you hear me?” Ginny’s face was tired and streaked with tears. Her hair was messed—mussed, she would say—and she was sniffling as she held his hand to her chest.

“Ginny,” he said, or tried to say.

“I’m here, honey. I’m here. I was so worried.”

“Ginny, I’m very tired.”

“Of course you are, darling. You rest. I’ll stay right here.”

“Mr. Taylor? I’m Dr. Schoenfeld. I’m the one who operated on you last night. This is Detective Morrow.”

“What am I doing here?”

“Do you remember anything about last night?” Morrow asked.

He turned his head, and saw Ginny holding his hand. She looked like she’d been up all night.

“I was working late in the office. I was walking to the subway, and glad it had stopped raining, because I’d forgotten my umb….”

“And then what?”

“Then, then… I… felt this incredible pain in my back. It was like I was burning up, and then freezing, and I fell down.”

“Yes?”

“And a… a man… with a bandanna on his face… holding a knife, he took my wallet.”

“Do you think you’d recognize this man, Mr. Taylor?”

“I… I don’t know. It was dark, and I wasn’t thinking too clearly, and… could I have a drink of water, please?”

“Of course, Mr. Taylor. Detective, please don’t tire him out. Mr. Taylor’s going to be with us for a few days, yet.”

“Doctor, we’re holding a man right now. We think he’s the man who attacked Mr. Taylor. But if we can’t officially charge him with anything, we’ll have to release him soon. If Mr. Taylor could swear a complaint, we’d have sufficient grounds to hold him.”

“All right, Detective. What do you need me to say?”

A nurse was whispering with Dr. Schoenfeld by the door.

“What is it, Doctor?”

“You seem to be having a reaction to something, Mr. Taylor. We’re not quite sure why you still have a fever.”

He had been feeling worse today, rather than better. Mark started to feel nauseated again, and reached for the bucket barely in time.

When he stopped heaving, and had rinsed his mouth, the doctor said, “We’re going to have do some blood tests.”

Mark held out his arm resignedly, as the nurse returned with a needle and some test tubes.

Mark was shivering and his whole body ached, as Ginny brought the kids in to see him.

“Daddy, Daddy,” five-year-old Maggie cried, as she saw him lying there. “You have to get up. You have to get better. You promised!”

Mark Junior, who was twelve, was more reserved, but in his eyes, Mark could see the fear of death. It made him shiver even more.

“Ginny,” Mark mumbled.

“I’m here, honey,” she replied, patting his hand.

“I’m so tired, babe,” he barely whispered.

“Then sleep, Mark, sleep. It’s OK, I’ll be right here.”

“OK,” he said, and faded into unconsciousness.

“Did the prisoner know he was going to experience this?”

“The State Supreme Court allowed our experiments, but said we could only try the system on volunteers, and that if a psychological interview after the treatment agrees with our assessment, commutation of their sentences would be possible. Ethically, we decided we also needed the permission of the victims. In this case, Ginny gave permission. Of course, all the emotions and feelings may not be precisely what they felt at the time… in some cases we’ve had to make best guesses, but overall, the feeling is close, and the results are quite good.”

“So after he’s experienced the death of Mark…?”

“Then he’ll experience the grief of his loss as felt by Ginny, and by Mark Junior, and by Maggie, and everyone else involved.”

“Mrs. Taylor?” It was a voice that sounded like bad news.

“Yes?”

“My name is Dr. Schoenfeld. I’m at City Hospital. Your husband was just brought in, and… well… I think you should be here.”

“Oh my god!” Ginny screamed. “What happened?”

“Please, Mrs. Taylor, it will be easier to explain in person.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Judy? This is Ginny. Yes, I know it’s late, but I have to bring the kids over. The hospital just called. Mark is there, but they wouldn’t say why. No, I’m not OK, but I need you to take the kids so I can get to the hospital. We’re on our way.

“Come on kids,” Ginny said, as she helped them put their jackets on over their pajamas. “You’re going to stay with Sam and Joanne. I have to go see Daddy.”

“But why, Mommy?” asked Maggie.

“Because he fell and hurt himself, and now he’s in the hospital. I’m going to go get him, and bring him home. But it may take a while, so you’re going to sleep at Sam and Joanne’s house. Now come on, we have to get going.” Move it! she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. It hurt to lie to them, but she had to get to the hospital now.

Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod!

Mark’s been hurt!

He’s dying!

He’s dead!

Gotta get there, gotta get there, gotta get there.

The red and blue flashing lights in the mirror made Ginny slow down. No! her mind screamed, Mark needs me!

“Do you know how fast you were go—”

“My husband’s in the hospital! He needs me! I have to get there! Please, I have to get there now! They just called. Please.”

“All right, all right. Slow down, lady. I’ll let you off with a warning, this time. But don’t go speeding, or you’ll be a patient, too.”

“Thank you, officer.” She rolled up her window, and tried not to speed away.

“My husband. I have to see him.”

“Excuse me, ma’am. Are you all right?”

“My husband! You called, said he was here.”

“Who called? What’s your husband’s name?”

“Mark. Mark Taylor. My husband’s name is Mark. Dr. Schoenfeld called me and said I had to get to the hospital. Had to be here.”

“All right, Mrs. Taylor. Have a seat over there, and I’ll see if I can find Dr. Schoenfeld.”