Judge & Jury

Judge & Jury
by Dave Chesworth

Once again, I needed a change of place.  Anywhere, just to get away, even if only for a few hours. 

I was living in a town far away from where events had changed my life so badly.  For a while, I was free from the awful dreams that for two years had haunted me every night.  And for a while, only occasionally did my imagination drag me back in time, to re-live some horrible scene.  I began to think I stood the chance of forgetting the past, that I had made my escape at last.  But, again, those painful memories tracked me down like a relentless bloodhound.

I could run again but I knew it was pointless.  The past would find me, sooner or later.  So I accepted my fate.  But there were nights like this one, when I was desperate to distract myself with the fresh sights and sounds of somewhere new.

It was still dark when I leapt from the bed and threw on some clothes.  Within five minutes I was in my car and on my way.  I didn’t acknowledge the direction I travelled.  The world around me was black, empty and silent.  My mind slowed until I was unaware of any thought or feeling, unaware of time or distance.  I felt peaceful.

Finally, it was dawn and I discovered myself entering an old, small town.  Its little shops glowed with the sun’s reflection, and trees were beginning to flourish with blossom.  It seemed strange that I hadn’t noticed before that it was Spring already. 

I parked in a side street and sat there for a few minutes watching.  People were beginning to emerge from their homes, and I watched a man kiss his loved one goodbye.  I left my car and strolled around the side streets and amongst the people, sunshine, trees, and singing birds.  No-one expected to see anything gruesome that day.

After a while of walking and enjoying pleasant daydreams, I was on the main street.  I looked at the old buildings above street-level, where the original architecture wasn’t spoiled by shop-fronts.  I could see nice slate roofs and chimney pots from the old days.  Noise distracted me and drew my attention to the road.  The traffic was surprisingly busy and fast, and there were no pedestrian crossings.  I thought that crossing this road would be an adventure for young people, and scary for the old. 

I returned to pleasant thoughts.  There were plenty of people to see, and I gazed at them as they wandered up and down, in and out of shops.  Some spoke to each other, smiling and laughing.  I smiled too.

I drifted into a daydream and my eyes slowly fell toward the footpath beneath me.  My gaze followed the path along the edge of the road until it struck the feet of a man stood about fifty metres away.  My curious eyes traced him up to the head.  My daydreaming came to an abrupt end – that face!  I thought I’d never see him again.  This man – and I flatter him by calling him that – was by far the most hateful person I ever knew.  I’ve never known anyone who so much enjoyed to hate, hurt, and destroy.  If the people here could have known what monster was among them they would have fled.  He infests people’s lives, like a malignant cancer.

Over two years ago, I rented a room in a large house, along with three young ladies, and this man.  Before very long his thin veil of charm was gone and the malice revealed.  If he perceived that someone had offended him in any way, he hated them from that moment.  Once, one of the girls casually remarked that his girlfriend’s dress wasn’t a colour she liked herself.  He wanted to smash her head into the wall and was only prevented because I blocked his way.  It felt like he was a vicious animal, and I a lion-tamer trying to restrain him.  He never forgave her for her “crime” and she paid for it another time.


Our landlady was a slightly eccentric, plump widow about sixty years of age.  She was always very cheerful, and everything she said was so jolly and buoyant that it seemed almost like she was singing.  To her, everyone was wonderful and she always asked you how you were feeling.  If you were ill, she made you pumpkin soup.  He knew her as the “psycho bitch from hell”. 

I never understood why he told me what terrible things he thought of the women and what he’d like to do to them.  Did he imagine I would approve?  He even had no inhibitions about expressing how he despised my own young lady.  It seemed likely that, with the exception of his girlfriend, he hated every woman he met.

If he knew I was absent from the house, he would prowl about, listening at doors.  Anyone he saw, he glared hatred at.  He wouldn’t even acknowledge the girls’ presence, he despised them so much.  He terrorised them in subtle and sometimes more tangible ways.

It was only some time after I left that house that I realised how much he had contributed to the misery suffered by my girlfriend.  I loved her more than anything but I let her down and I failed to protect her.  I never forgave myself.  But at the time, I was so distracted away from home that I didn’t realise what had happened.  Then he disappeared and so I couldn’t punish him for it!  What he did to her is my worst nightmare.  I imagined I’d forgotten the details, or perhaps my mind blocked them out.  Suddenly, he was in front of me again and so was the nightmare.

I watched him as he stood there, unaware of me.  I was dead still, but my heart pounded like a hammer.  That’s when I felt it was really him.  Time seemed to stand still.  I heard no sound.  All the people seemed motionless.  The only face I could see was the one I hated.  My eyes were constantly on him, I did not blink.  I started to move toward him, and in a moment everything around me was a blur as I shot through the air faster and faster.  He never saw me coming.  My body smashed into his, sweeping him off his feet and into the speeding traffic. 

The next thing I remember was seeing only the sky, clear and blue.  A seagull glided high above and momentarily blocked the sun from my eyes.  It took me a moment to realise where I was, and remember how I got there.  Where was he?  I rolled my head to one side and saw thick, red blood that had made a trail to the gutter.  It led from his crushed skull.

I heard voices, gasping in horror.  And silhouettes were leaning over me.  Gradually, I got up.  I heard sirens and I realised I didn’t want to be there anymore.  As I started to move, people slowly stepped aside and enabled me to walk away.  And I kept walking, faster and faster.  I turned the first corner, then another, and another, quickly making myself disappear.

After a while, I was a kilometre and a half away, and I entered a park.  It had many trees, children’s swings, and a fish pond.  It reminded me of the park I knew as a schoolboy, and I smiled.  I dipped my hand in the pond and used the water to cool my face, and clean myself up as best I could.

Soon I was sat in a café with a cup of tea.  I became curious about something so I held out my hand, palm down, and watched it.  It was perfectly steady.

During the following days, there were items in the TV news and newspapers about a serious incident somewhere - something familiar.  I was reminded of that man’s name, and I discovered where I had been that day.  I wondered if one day soon policemen would knock at the door.  I never considered handing myself in to the police because in my heart and mind I had done nothing wrong.  My conscience was not troubled, in fact it was eased now.  Also, I was certain that future women would now be saved from torment and torture, or even death, due to the removal of that hateful man.  If it happened that I was found and prosecuted for his killing, I knew I would have little to say other than I was glad I had done it!

This is many months ago now and the newspapers have long since stopped speculating whether the death was accidental or not, drug-related or not, etc.  For me now, everything seems only half real.  There remains little left to do or feel.  This is my memoir.