Facing Justice

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Massey was amazed to wake up alive. He was certain he’d be dead, that the horrific beating he’d endured — the fists, boots, sticks and bats — would have, should have, killed him. He’d obviously been lucid at the start of it, expecting to get a good hammering, basically what he deserved. But, only a short way into the assault, he realized this was much more than a punishment beating. He could tell by their faces and their eyes and their determination. And he knew this would be the last time he would ever be assaulted by anyone. But there had been nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t protect himself or fight back in any way. Being securely gaffer-taped to a chair ensured that.

Then the pain took over, followed by the distortion of sight, sound and thought. Next the in-and-out of consciousness, vision blurring as though he’d opened his eyes deep under murky water, unable to see, then unable to feel, then unable to breathe. And then the merciful blackness of what he assumed was his death.

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