The Devil's Due Read online

The Devil’s Due

  Copyright Michael Purcell 2011

  Chapter one: Donald's Parents

  They were late for the return bus home, as they knew they would be. Having stayed after quiting time at work, for a few hours of desperately needed overtime. But it was worth it. Donald would be able to have a fine education, and rise out of this limited, unsecured lifestyle. Thomas Lemore put his arm around his wife, looking into her warm brown eyes. He gave her a bright smile, "Well dear, ready for a nice walk home again. "Jeannette returned the smile and replied, "Sure, but only if we take the scenic route, I get bored so easily." They both laughed as they started walking down the street. On this side of town, there was not much scenery other than working factory buildings and condemned ones.

  "We are so lucky to have Mae watch Donny for us after school, so we can both work. She is such a gem." said Jeanette. Watching her husband for his response. "Yes indeed she is a gem, and I've been thinking. We should do something special for her. She does so much for us and others in the community. Perhaps we could take her out for a special day, just for her." Looking over at his wife he added, "What do you think darling, silly idea or what?" As she smiled from ear to ear, she replied, "I think that is an absolutely wonderful idea honey, let's work out the details when we get home OK?" Her eyes full of excitement at the thought. Thomas beaming with a warm loving smile added, "We have a date me lady, shall we meet in our room at say 8:30 then?" Jeanette playing coy, answers, "I think that can be arranged Mr. Lemore, if you promise to keep your hands to yourself...at least until we have finished our business." Both laughed, "Yes ma'am." Thomas replied.

  Thomas always kept his wife close to him when walking home from work, and his hunting knife even closer. He knew that there were drug dealers and other bad elements lurking about in those abandoned buildings. He has seen strung out junkies desperate for a fix, try to manhandle passersby for money. He would never concede to such a demand. Just a couple of more blocks, and they would be clear of the more dangerous zone.

  They heard the sound of a can being kicked ahead of them, just around the corner at the end of the block. Then, there was the crashing sound of a bottle being smashed angrily against a wall. A voice spoke out, "Not a god damn drop in that bottle. I need money damn it!" As the man came from around the corner, Thomas could see he was desperate and dangerous. His hair was filthy and covered his eyes. He had a rough beard, and wore a tattered set of army fatigues. There was a tattoo of an English Bulldog on his right arm, under which were the words "Semper Fidelis." He looked at the couple and said, "Good evening folks. I'm sure you won't mind helping out a war vet down on his luck, say 20 bucks."

  "I don't think so sir. Now please step aside." Thomas replied in a strong voice. "Oh...oh...step aside say you then huh? OK...now how about you just give me everything, wallet, watch, rings...everything." Reaching into his jacket, the man pulled out a pistol and pointed it at the couple. "NOW!, or so help me, I'll take the lady off at the knees right in front of you Mr. Do-gooder!" Thomas knew they were in trouble and had to wait for an opening to use his knife, if at all. "OK...OK...calm down, here are my wallet and watch, take them, that should be plenty to get what you need." Neither Thomas nor Jeannette wanted to turn over their wedding rings, they just meant so much to them both. The man was getting angrier, drunk with his power over the couple. He loaded the chamber of the pistol with a loud chi-clang. It was a 45 caliber pistol, a powerful handgun capable of doing much damage, especially at this close range.

  "Give me the rings now!, I won't ask again...next time I'll let my friend here do the asking!" the mans hands were shaking as he pointed the gun from one to the other. He looked like he was ready to lose control. "Here is my ring, it's OK fella, it's OK....give him your ring honey." Thomas tried to relay the urgency of the situation to his wife in his tone, and did not look at her directly, but it was too late. "I will never give this piece of gutter trash my wedding ring...war veteran my ass. Just a common junkie after a fix, too lazy to get a real job and work for a living!" Thomas's eyes grew wide as he watched the madman turn the gun to his wife, and without flinching shot her right in the middle of her forehead. Her body being flung back by the sheer force of the bullet's impact. Thomas heard a wet splashing sound from behind him, and he knew his wife was dead, her brains splattering the wall and sidewalk.

  Thomas pulled his hunting knife from its sheath behind him and charged forward, stabbing the man deep in the chest. As he screamed at him, "You son of a bitch!....You son of a bitch...you killed my wife!!...You filthy son of a bitch!!!" The two men fell to the ground in a bloody ball. The gunman put the gun under Thomas's ribs, letting loose two shots, as Thomas gave one last hard slash across the gunman's throat. The man immediately stopped fighting and lie there dead, blood gushing from his neck and chest. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and a musky, almost metallic, smell of hot human blood as it steamed off of the bodies into the cold fall air. Being mortally wounded himself, Thomas crawled over to where his wife's body lie in a pool of blood. Her eyes were still open, but showed no emotion, as motionless and lifeless as plastic dolls eyes. Thomas placed his right hand over her eyes, and closed them. "I love you so much Jeannette...I'm sooo sorr...." Thomas Lemore died before he could finish his declaration to his wife. His head resting on her blood-soaked chest, his eye's slowly closed as the last tears he would ever cry seeped out, trickling down to rest on his wife's body.

  The rain felt cool on the young boy's face as he stood defiantly away from the protection of the umbrella, that his aunt Mae was trying to shelter him with. He knew the rain would conceal his tears, his pain, to all those around him. He was not going to let that happen. He was never going to be weak again. Lightning flashed in the distance, splashing the landscape. As if God were taking pictures of the event. He would not put his trust in God or man after this day. If there was really a god, then why did he take his parents from him in such a cruel and violent way? Before he could grow up and reward their love. He was going to go to college, make them proud. He was going to take care of them, give them all that they gave up so that he could have an education, and a better life than they did.

  He knew that the adults would be ending the funeral soon, it was becoming too dangerous with a thunderstorm rolling in. He thought to himself, maybe it would not be so bad to have it end here and now. However, that would be weak, and he was never going to be weak again....ever. As his aunt hurried him to the car, he took one last look over his shoulder. Lightning lit up the tombstone epitaph, as if his parents were saying goodbye to him... 'Lemore...Thomas H. & Jeannette M., 'Beloved Husband/Wife/Mother/Father'. He whispered aloud to the grave, "Goodbye mom and dad. I will make you proud of me....you'll see...I promise." That boy was me, Donald Frederick Lemore, and this is my story.

  After the death of my parents, it was agreed by the state that my aunt Mae would have custody of me. My aunt fought hard for it, being my mother's sister and a church-going woman. She felt it her duty as a Christian to do so. I did not mind Aunt Mae. She was a good woman and could bake the best oatmeal cookies anyone had ever tasted. She won the first prize at the county fair for her cookies every year for as long as I can remember. She lived alone now, but was never really alone since she was such an active community member. Many people in this town knew her and loved her for her kind heart, gentle words and outrageous cooking. Her husband had died in that Vietnam War. She never spoke to me about it, and I had enough respect for her not to ask. I could see the deep look of sorrow and loneliness etched on her face any time she looked at one of many pictures of him, that were hung or placed around the house. She would make sure that I was almost always busy doing something constructive with my free time when I was not studying for school.
"Idle hands are the devil's playground," she was fond of saying to me.

  I did not tell Aunt Mae or anyone else, for that matter, that I had lost any faith I had in god the day my mom and dad were brutally murdered. As far as my dear old Aunt Mae knew, I was her sister's darling little boy who went to church with her every Sunday, sang hymns and prayed every day. These things were meaningless to me anymore. If the adults wanted to be foolish enough to think that god was out there looking over them and protecting them every day, that's fine. As for me, I knew better than that now. There was just good, bad and evil. This I knew because