Dark Road to Redemption
Richard
written by: Alpha Rigans
One Year Ago
I stood outside Johannes’ office, peering through the glass wall. He was laughing and chatting animatedly on the phone, oblivious to my presence. Twelve minutes past our scheduled appointment, a bead of sweat trickled down my temple, mirroring the growing unease in my gut. Schmoozing with the bigwigs, no doubt, while I stood here like an afterthought. Finally, he gestured for me to enter with a dismissive wave, but his attention remained glued to his papers and screen. I cleared my throat and ventured a hesitant, ‘Hi Johannes.’
He grunted, barely acknowledging me, his jaw clenching slightly as he snapped, ‘What do you want?’ without so much as a nod towards a seat. My throat tightened. I swallowed hard, my voice trembling slightly as I began, ‘I sent you an email, but you didn’t reply… I scheduled this meeting to discuss an issue with the report I sent to Simon for review. The one about Vermayon’s construction projects, deadlines, and delays.’ Each word felt heavier than the last, punctuated by the increasingly rapid tapping of Johannes’ pen against his desk.
‘Simon heavily edited my report, changing information that altered the conclusion,’ I continued, ‘I spoke with him about it, and he claimed my calculation methods were wrong, needing adjustment due to errors.’ A silence stretched between us. Johannes’ eyes flickered up briefly, then returned to his screen, his brow furrowing in what might have been concentration, or perhaps irritation. I pressed on, each syllable a struggle against the suffocating quiet, broken only by the insistent tapping of his pen, now a staccato rhythm.
‘But I double-checked everything, and my numbers were accurate. I believed Simon’s corrections were unjustified. Since he wouldn’t entertain my counterarguments, I come to you for clarification.’ I swallowed again, ‘I believe, as the security and compliance department, our role prioritizes security, necessitating caution. Accepting the conclusion that Vermayon might be responsible for significantly longer delays and sub-optimal quality…’
Finally, Johannes looked up, his lips thinned into a tight line, his eyes glazing over mine with a dismissive glare. He interrupted, his voice tight, ‘I am aware of that report’. ‘Simon brought it to me, and indeed, you had made errors in your calculations. Unacceptable, sloppy work.’ He leaned forward, his face flushing red, veins throbbing at his temples, ‘I am surprised you are here complaining instead of owning up to your mistake…’
I tried to interject, ‘But… it’s not-‘
‘Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking, and don’t lecture me about department protocols when I lead it,’ he barked, his voice escalating like a pressure cooker about to explode. ‘Do you expect I send your idiotic report to Ursula Sauer – a reliable business partner and a friend – and tell her she must halt all of her ongoing projects because some idiot in my team wanted to play at being a fucking policeman?’
‘No, it’s not like that,’ I realized I was still standing and hastily sank into the chair, my legs suddenly feeling like rubber.
‘I didn’t tell you to sit down,’ he snarled, his face now a deep crimson, ‘I haven’t time for this drawn-out meeting. Listen, Richard, we have an issue with you, this isn’t the first time, and I’ve already spoken to HR…’
I tried to cut in again, ‘Johannes, please…’
But he talked over me, his voice a venomous hiss, ‘You are fired, effective immediately.’ He stood, pointing towards the door with a dismissive hand, not even glancing at me. I felt like an insect he wanted to swat away. ‘I don’t want losers in my team. Get out of my office,’ he growled. ‘And don’t come back.’
I stood, my breath coming in short, quick gasps, and left the office. Fired, just like that. All because of Simon’s lies and Johannes’ corruption. The injustice of it all choked me. As I stepped out into the hallway, the weight of the dismissal pressed down like a leaden cloak settling on my shoulders. Each step felt heavy with the uncertainty of what came next. The fluorescent lights hummed, a monotonous soundtrack to the sudden depression within me. I was adrift, tossed from a secure course into an uncharted sea, the bitter taste of betrayal lingering long after the door clicked shut behind me.
As I gathered my belongings, a worn copy of the Bible slipped, landing open on the floor. Inside, a small picture of Jesus on the cross, tucked between the pages, fluttered free and landed face up. I picked it up and stared long at it. An unfamiliar warmth spread through me, a gentle pressure against my chest like a hand resting there. It was a feeling, a knowing. A voice, soft yet resonant, seemed to echo within my soul, not speaking words, but conveying a profound sense of peace and purpose. In that instant, amidst the wreckage, a flicker of hope ignited like a whisper of divine guidance amidst the chaos.
Present Day
I gripped the steering wheel tighter as I navigated the narrow road through the village. It was about four in the afternoon, and there was a line of slow-moving cars in front of us. The worn leather of the wheel creaked beneath my grip. Each uptick of the stalled line of cars sent a fresh tremor through my temples, a dull ache behind my eyes.
‘Some old codger is probably driving below the speed limit, holding up the whole fucking line.’ I gripped the wheel tighter, willing the stalled line of cars to part. ‘Either that or we got stuck in some fucking funeral procession’.
‘Or road works,’ Frank beside me added and chuckled, the incongruity of his amusement grating on my frayed nerves. I shot him a sideways glance, my eyes narrowing to slits. ‘I’m glad my irritation is a source of amusement for you, Frank,’ I said, my voice full of sarcasm.
He held up his hands in mock surrender, a grin still playing at the corners of his mouth. ‘Sorry, boss. It’s just… you gotta admit, it’s pretty funny.’
A ghost of a smile twitched at the corner of my lips, a grudging acknowledgment of the absurdity of the situation. ‘Fine, you’re right. It’s almost comically mundane.’
‘But fuck, Frank’, I added, ‘I’m just so irritated these days.’
Frank’s expression sobered, his eyes filled with concern. ‘It’s understandable, boss. With everything that’s been happening,’ Frank murmured, his levity dimmed, replaced by a tired curve of his lips. ‘Long nights, heavy burdens… it wears on a man.’
I sighed, rubbing my temples in an attempt to ward off an impending headache. ‘It’s just a lot of little things, you know? I want to get this over with, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep going. It’s like I’m wading through a never-ending swamp of bullshit.’
Finally, the road cleared, and as we drove on, I caught sight of a small, quaint village cafe up ahead. My stomach growled, a reminder of the hunger gnawing at my insides. ‘Hey, let’s stop and grab something to eat. I’m starving.’
Frank glanced at the dashboard clock, his brow furrowing. ‘But boss, it’s getting late. We should probably push on, get to the ranch as soon as possible.’
I was tempted to insist, but I knew he was right. We had a mission to complete, and getting sidetracked could jeopardize everything. ‘You’re right. We’ll eat at the ranch. Hopefully, Rory managed to prepare us something good for supper.’
As we continued, I found my gaze drawn to the rolling fields of the countryside. The sun-dappled fields blurring past held a fleeting promise of peace. A pang of longing hit me, a deep, aching desire for a simpler life. I wanted to buy a little house with a garden, just like the one my grandmother used to have, where the honeysuckle climbed the trellis. A sanctuary, a refuge from the relentless fight, a place where the birdsong could drown out the clamor of my current life. I long to hear the quiet rustle of turning pages in a good book, a luxury these days feels impossible.
‘You know, Frank, I can’t wait to put all this behind us. I want to relax and enjoy the easy life.’
Frank nodded, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. ‘I hear you, boss. Sometimes I just want to take a break, spend the rest of my days in peace.’ Then he continued, ‘Peace is a good dream, but sometimes, this fight feels like the only way to keep it alive, even if it’s a weary kind of hope.’
Frank’s rare deep reflection ignited at that moment a flicker of understanding in me. Maybe this striving, this relentless push against the darkness, was itself a tending of the soul, a way to build a world where simpler joys could truly flourish. I smiled wistfully, a rare, genuine smile, ‘That’s true, we have first to go through the rough stuff, Frank. It’s our holy mission, our purpose. We have to stay strong, keep the faith.’
Frank remained silent, and I couldn’t help but sense a slight lack of conviction in him. It made me feel a twinge of sadness, a realization that not everyone shared my unwavering faith in our cause. But I understood. Not everyone could have the same level of belief, the same burning passion. As long as Frank had some faith, some small grain of it, that was enough. After all, even a mustard seed of faith could move mountains, as Jesus had said. This contemplation transported me back to my childhood Sunday sermons with the late Father Philip. A gifted orator, he held a profound place in my heart, a paternal figure far more present than my own absent biological father, who abandoned me at the age of seven.
And with that thought, I pressed on.
The sun was sinking into the horizon as we rolled up to the ranch, the dust kicking up behind us. Rory was already pacing, his fists clenched tight. He was also waiting for this moment, for the chance to make those horrible people pay. Rory was a fanatic, I remember his eyes followed my every word, a hunger in their depths that mirrored my own. No flicker of doubt, only the satisfaction of a predator anticipating the kill.
As we approached the barn, the muffled screams of Ursula echoed out. Rory led us to her, and I could feel my own breath quicken, a knot of anticipation twisting tight in my stomach. There she was, bound to a chair, her ragged breaths hitching in her throat, her pupils dilated, a gag fashioned from a torn shirt constricting her jaw.
‘So, Ursula,’ I said calmly. ‘You and Johannes, fucking and colluding to ruin the lives of millions. Well, now it’s time you both pay the price.’
I had a fleeting vision of my past self, the one who didn’t care much for any cause, who’d believed in due process, before the bitterness had hardened my heart into this cold, calculating instrument. Memories surfaced of Ursula visiting Johannes’s office, both of them laughing hysterically. Then, the stark image of my own firing flashed – discredited for reporting Vermayon’s corruption and reckless disregard for safety in pursuit of profit. My report had highlighted the alarming increase in car accidents on highways and construction sites, which I had been diligently monitoring. It was personal, a calculated humiliation designed to break me. But instead of breaking, a cold fire ignited within. An obsession took root, festering with each passing day. I would make them pay, not just for their actions, but for the audacity of their disregard, for the casual cruelty they inflicted, ignoring the suffering they caused while reveling in their ill-gotten gains. This meticulously planned revenge was my retaliation, the pain and death orchestrated to mirror their callous indifference.
We dragged Ursula out to the yard, dumping her beside the door like discarded refuse, and I turned to Frank and Rory, my voice a low rasp, ‘Let’s get Johannes out of the trunk.’
A silent nod passed between them, and we moved as one against the dying light to retrieve Johannes from his drugged slumber in the trunk. Frank, despite his outward stoicism, fidgeted nervously, his usual gruff demeanor softened by a flicker of unease. He’d followed my lead unquestioningly, but I believe a part of him, buried deep, still clung to the remnants of his former moral compass. I put my hand on his arm as a sign of support and encouragement. We were doing this for a noble purpose.
Johannes’ eyes were glassy and unfocused. We hauled him out of the trunk and dumped him on the ground in the yard, where he just lay there.
Frank and Rory went to get the horses. Ursula’s shrieks grew louder even through the gag, and I could see the terror in her expression as she realized what was about to happen. I stood there, staring at her, my pulse hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat. ‘You’re going to watch him die, Ursula. You’re going to see him suffer in the most gruesome way possible.’
She shook her head wildly, tears streaming down her face.
We bound Johannes’ arms and legs to each of the four horses, the leather straps creaking ominously.
Frank and Rory knelt down beside me, and we began our prayer, our voices low and solemn. I led with ‘Jesus our lord, please give us the courage to carry out your will of retribution and justice in the world.’
Once we finished, I gave the signal, and Frank and Rory stood up, their faces set in grim determination.
A sharp whip and the horses pulled Johannes apart, his limbs tearing from his body with a sickening, wet snap accompanied by the raw, coppery tang of blood filling the air. A bone-chilling crack resonated as his spine gave way, followed by the guttural, animalistic squeals of agony that tore from his throat despite the anaesthetic. The earth itself seemed to recoil as the strained leather yielded. Johannes’s primal scream, a choked-off bellow, was swallowed by the hollow whinny of the straining horses. Viscera spilled out, a grotesque fabric of crimson and ochre against the ground, the stench of tearing flesh thick and nauseating.
The revulsion I felt was a dull ache rather than a churning storm. This was the price, the calculus of retribution. It’s what we had planned.
Ursula’s wails grew louder, more hysterical. She was sobbing uncontrollably, looking at her boyfriend’s quartered body. I could see the realization in her eyes, the understanding that she had brought this upon herself.
I looked at her, and a strange tightness constricted my chest, a sensation akin to pity, warring with the rising tide of bile in my gut. It was a fleeting thing, quickly swallowed by the icy logic I’d built around this act. Justice, wasn’t it? Or was I, in this moment, becoming the very monster I’d sought to punish? The question lingered, a phantom limb, even as I raised my gun. Ursula’s eyes widened, reflecting the dawning horror, then her head exploded in a spray of blood and brains, the sickening sound reverberating through the stillness.
Frank and Rory came over as I surveyed the horrors in the yard. ‘Well, that’s done,’
We walked toward the house, each step heavy with purpose fulfilled, yet hollow. The yard behind us held more than bodies – it cradled the death of something within me, too, something that had survived Johannes’s betrayal but couldn’t survive my response. I thought of my grandmother’s garden again, of the honeysuckle she’d tenderly trained up the trellis each spring. ‘Through Jesus, all things are possible,’ she used to say, her weathered hands gentle with the vines. But as the evening shadows lengthened across blood-soaked earth, I wondered if some possibilities, once seized, could never be undone.
Frank and Rory moved ahead of me, one shuffling with the weight of doubt, the other striding with zealot’s certainty – mirror images of the war inside my own soul. Rory called something about supper being ready, his voice cheerful, obscene in its normalcy. I lingered a moment longer, watching the sun sink behind the barn. The peace I’d dreamed of seemed further away now, not closer, as if with each act of vengeance I’d been building not a pathway to salvation but a wall against it. Yet still I would follow them inside, break bread, say grace, and call it justice. What else remained?
- Dark Road to Redemption – Richard - August 22, 2025
- Dark Road to Redemption - May 24, 2025
