Compassion or Vengeance

March 30^th, 1912 A.D.
Lancaster

The shadows clung to the narrow Lancastrian streets like secrets, deepening the already close confines; dimly lit lamps, spaced far apart offered only a meagre honeyed glow to the otherwise empty streets, pools of weak light struggling against the encroaching darkness.

Here, Lydia was alone, the first time she was on her own since she had begun to really build her life with Thomas; the silence of the night seemed to be pressing in around her, with still settling into their new lives, Thomas’ new job had unfortunately taken him away from Lancaster for the night.
It had left Lydia to navigate ta familiar loneliness she hadn’t needed to care, the evening had been unexpectedly calm – Lydia had diligently worked her way through the tiresome tasks, finished the never-ending cleaning; she had dealt with the rubbish that had accumulated, hauling the overflowing bags to the bin with a sigh of relief.

Now, as she stood in the hallway; the moon cast a silvery sickle in the inky sky, cast long, skeletal shadows across the rooms; with a flick of the switch, she plunged her home into darkness, a necessary act to finally turn in for the night.

To hopefully find some much needed rest and elusive sleep; the thought of rest was a balm to her weary muscles, and a promise against the lonely hours that stretched before her until dawn.

As time ticked away, a ‘click’ echoed in the silence, and the backdoor of the house slowly creeped open; a figure slowly snuck inside of the house, a shadow amongst shadows.

Wilfred, barely eighteen, his face gaunt and haunted , moved with a nervous energy, he clutched a small, heavy piece of metal in his trembling hands, something he had found in a nearby alleyway; desperation, a gnawing beast had driven him to this.

The voices in his head, always tormenting him; they had grown louder, promising respite in the form of riches he didn’t possess, he needed money; desperately.

His mother had fallen sick, she clung to life by a threat, and the doctor had demanded payment before any medicines would be provided.

As Wilfred snuck his way up the stairs, the steps creaked beneath his weight as he ascended; he maintained a slow, careful pace; the first room he decided to search would end up being the bedroom; he saw Lydia’s sleeping form, he felt his heart beating faster, hammering hard against his ribs as he slowly made his way over towards her.

One creak too many, one creak of the board to near; Lydia finally began stirring, her eyes fluttering open; shifting his gaze, she spotted a figure, before she could react though, Wilfred brought the metal down hard against her head, a sickening thud followed.

The next thing Lydia was aware of, was that she was sat in a chair; her head lolling forwards, her head was throbbing and her vision swam; a metallic tang filled her mouth, she felt her wrists bound by rough rope, she was pinned to the rickety chair, when she became more alert she brought her head upwards, her eyes flicked around the darkened bedroom, she was on her own, but someone had clearly been ransacking the draws.

Rage was beginning to fester, someone had dared enter her home, and instead of killing her; simply tied her to a chair; she wasn’t going to let this slide.

Testing the ropes, she found that they were tight but not expertly tied; she knew she wouldn’t be able to force the rope, but, understanding pressure points and leverage, she had a method of escape; the rickety chair shook a moment as she began to shift; testing the knots; her patience would prove to be key with this.

The relentless ticking of the clock echoed, each minute stretching int an agonizing eternity; the coarse rope bit into her wrists with every futile struggle, the chafing had long ago broken the skin – a thin, crimson line painted her raw flesh, yet, despite this pain, it pushed her, a tangible measure of her progress.

Focusing on the meagre burn, she felt the barely perceptible increase in slack; it was meagre, almost non-existent, but enough; it was enough to initiate the plan she had crafted in her mind.

She began with agonizingly small movements, barely a twitch at first; up, then down – each minuscule shift was a victory hard-won, a testament to her unwavering will.

Slowly, painstakingily. She started applying pressure to the chair arms, her muscles began to scream in protest, every nerve ending alight with fiery pain, the strain in her wrists was immense, a white-hot ache that threatened to overwhelm.

Then, a sound – a delicate, almost imperceptible creak, she held her breath, listening intensely; then, another creak, this time it was louder, more pronounced, she felt her adrenaline surge, she strained harder, pushing her limit, she wasn’t fully certain if it was the wood, or her wrists, but she was going to push regardless.

‘Crack’

The sound of splintering wood filled the air, a symphony od liberation; driven by her adrenaline, she yanked her arms inwards, then outwards, the movement raw and desperate; the wood groaned in protest, fibres tearing under the relentless pressure, with a final shifting of her body trying to provide as much movement as she could get, the chairs arms gave way.

The sudden release was almost disorientating; her wrists were raw, throbbing, but finally free; rope still wrapped around them, but, that would now be easy to deal with, she was loose.

Standing up quickly, she felt the room spin around her for a moment, it caused her to stagger; but she quickly regained her balance; she wasn’t letting anything stop her; a predator was now loose to stalk its prey.

She moved silently, like a wraith through the house; she saw doors leading into different rooms, various draws open, things strewn about; her intruder had been pilfering her and Thomas’ very belongings.

When she finally found him; she discovered him in the small kitchen, pawing through a tin box; hearing movement, it caused him to look up, his eyes widened with terror, his weapon, lay forgotten on the table “You!” Lydia snapped, her voice low, a guttural growl

Wilfred stumbled backwards, knocking a chair over “Please!” he stammered, his voice cracking “Don’t hurt me!”

Lydia advanced quickly; her eyes burning with a cold fury; her rage had come racing to the surface, she lunged at him, grabbing Wilfred by the collar, slamming him backwards against the wall.
He cried out with a pathetic whimper – she didn’t stop though, she threw a punch, which was followed by another, then another; blow after blow rained down on him, each of her strikes were fuelled by her rage.

When she finally stopped, he crumpled down to the floor, begging for mercy; she quickly grabbed a knife off the side, moving directly over him, her chest heaved, spinning the knife in her hand, she held it in reverse as she used her right hand to force his head backwards; she was ready for dealing one last strike, every intention of snuffing his life.

But; she stopped, she hesitated.

She stared at him, he was a broken figure, bloody and bruised from his beating his eyes stared up at her in terror, a terror she seemed to recognise; here before her was nothing more than a boy; a scared and desperate boy.

His pleas, which had previously been ignored, finally cut through the rage in her mind “Please” he sobbed “My mother…, she’s sick…., I need money for medicine…, please”

The words were raw and desperate; they struck a chord; her eyes seemed to soften as she stared at him, thoughts drifting away from the present moment briefly before she snapped herself back to the present; he wasn’t a threat, not really – just some broken soul.

She let go of his head, moved the knife away; backing up before throwing the knife back onto the side – it landed with a loud clatter, the only other noises in this empty silence was simply Wilfred’s sobbing – she watched him a moment.

Then, she finally knelt down in front of him; compassion has now surged to the surface “Look at me” she said gently; he flinched, but slowly raised his head, his eyes were red and swollen, but they met her gaze “Why?” she questioned softly “Why did you do this?”

He cried; his sobs wracking his body “My mother…, she’s dying…, I didn’t know what else to do”

Lydia looked at him; really looked at him, she did not see some hardened criminal, just some desperate frightened child that was forced to do some kind of desperate act; a sigh escaped her lips “What’s her name?” he asked

“Mary” he choked out; Lydia slowly nodded her head

She left him where he was as she went back upstairs, disappearing for a few minutes before finally coming back to the kitchen and approaching him; kneeling back down in front of him she watched him carefully “Here” she said softly “Go and get your mother her medicine” she told him

Wilfred looked at the money she was holding out in her hand, then to her; his eyes were filled with disbelief, he had just broken into her home, attacked her, tied her to a chair; and she was willing to help him “Why?” he whispered

“Because” she said “Acting out in desperation; compassion isn’t a weakness, it’s a strength” she told him, as she stood up, she made her way to the door that he had previous entered through, pulling it open again “Go on” she told him

Wilfred slowly rose back to his feet, looking at what she had given him, he nodded; he left her home.

Written By: Westley H