Justice Ch. 06: The Gift of Freedom

Justice Ch. 06: The Gift of Freedom

Although this story can be read on its own, I suggest you read the first five parts of this series to get the full context of what is happening here. It's not necessarily required, but it might also help if you read my e-book, "Justice Rides." Parts of this tale were inspired by NTRMaster's 2011 story, "A Gift From God," about a man trapped in a coma by an evil doctor who seduced his wife.

I would like to thank all those who have read and offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories.

And now, the disclaimers:

For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper... In addition:

1. Characters in this story may participate in one or more of the following: Smoking, consumption of adult (meaning, alcoholic) beverages, utterance of profanities.
2. All sexual activity is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.
3. Statements or views uttered by the fictional characters in this story do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author.

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

...

James Eastland lay in his hospital bed watching the latest reruns on the television in the corner of the room. Unable to move, he had no choice but to absorb whatever drivel was playing on the channel the nurses selected for him.

It had been at least eight months since he was first brought to this... hospital... after a horrific auto accident. Dr. Skitz repaired the damage to his brain and placed him in a medically-induced coma. But that was only the beginning of James' problems.

After his surgery, Dr. Skitz informed him that he intended to have his way with Tina, James' wife of six years. And to make matters worse, the doctor told him there was nothing he could do about it.

"You see, Mr. Eastland, I control the level of your medications. Yes, I know you're capable of functioning as normal," he said with a wicked grin. "But I'm never going to let that happen. I intend to keep you here, in a catatonic state, for as long as I see fit. Why would I do that, you might ask. The answer is simple. I intend to not only fuck your wife, but I'm going to turn her against you. Completely."

James tried to move his arm but couldn't. He also tried to speak but was unable to say anything. The sadistic doctor smiled as he watched the shadows of James' frantic inner struggle ripple across his slack features.

"Yes, Mr. Eastland. I can tell you're trying to respond. But you can't, can you? I control you now," the doctor said, laughing maniacally. "With a turn of this dial, I control every muscle in your body. In short, I can decide when, or if, you ever come out of the catatonic state you're in. As long as your insurance continues to pay, you will continue to breathe. Once the money dries up, let's just say we'll have to re-evaluate your usefulness to society.

"You're probably wondering why I'm doing this to you, aren't you?" the doctor asked. "You see, not only is your wife hotter than Hell, with a supremely talented mouth, but with you essentially out of the way, she has control of a considerable amount of money. Yes, I know how much Tina stands to gain."

"And soon, I'll control your wife -- AND the money she'll inherit from you. So, be a good boy and just lay there like a wet dishrag, and I just might let the nurses feed you something now and again." The doctor walked out of the room, laughing.

For the next eight months, James lay in his bed, a prisoner in his own body, and watched as his wife, Tina, slowly became Dr. Skitz's personal slut. At first, she seemed reluctant, but as time wore on, she changed. Now, she had no qualms about fucking this quack right there in front of him, wantonly giving herself to him as they both laughed and mocked him.

James prayed for death, hoping it would all end. But it never came. He was forced to live in this hell and watch his wife humiliate him in the worst possible way. He hated them -- Tina, the "doctor," the nurses who mocked him even as they "cared" for him. He hated them and swore that he would make them all pay if he ever got out of this.

Then it came to him one night as he listened to a rerun of a television program. It was late, and the network was airing a program called "Breaking Point." He had never seen the program before but was intrigued as it told the story of a man cruelly cuckolded by his wife during a vacation to Cabo San Lucas.

As he watched and listened to the interviews, it hit him. Justice. That's what he wanted most. First, get out of this hell, and then get justice on all those who did this to him. Tina, the "doctor," the nurses -- everyone.

He hadn't prayed for years and it had been decades since he had been inside a church. But now, seeing no other option, he closed his eyes and begged silently for justice. A nurse must have seen him with his eyes closed and figured he was asleep, so she came into the room, turned off the television, and pulled the door shut.

James fell asleep for a while and was suddenly jolted awake. The temperature in the room had dropped considerably, and he could see his breath form a mist in the air. It was still night, but the room seemed darker than usual. Suddenly the shadows in the room seemed to change, moving around until they coalesced at the foot of his bed.

Standing at the foot of his bed was the figure of a man. He seemed to be wearing western-style clothing, the type he once saw in those old black-and-white movies. The man appeared to wear a battered hat on his head, and his eyes burned with fire.

James was frightened, and chills ran up and down his spine. The man walked to the side of his bed and looked down at the thin, emaciated figure covered with only a light blanket. James sensed the anger coming off the figure in waves. He thought that maybe this was the angel of death finally coming to free him from his miserable existence.

Then the being spoke.

"Don't you worry none, pardner," the strange shadow-man said. "Ah'll get yer situation under control. You jes' hang tight."

"Wh... who are you?" James thought. He tried to form words but was unable to. The man seemed to hear James' unspoken question.

"Name's Peace," the man said. "Justice O. Peace. Mah friends call me Eli. Ah'll be in touch." The figure disappeared, leaving James feeling hopeful for the first time since this nightmare began. A couple of minutes later, a nurse walked into the room.

"Oh, my goodness," she said, rubbing her arms. "How'd it get so cold in here?" James saw her look at the thermostat. She shook her head and tapped on the thing as if that would make the temperature go back up. Suddenly, the temperature in the room went back to normal. She looked around for a bit, confused, then left the room.

...

Memorial Day:

"Sure is nice to be able to make this trip with you this year, Amos," my wife, Danni, said from the passenger seat as I drove down the freeway. That's me, by the way -- Amos Jones.

"Yes, it is," I said. Every year, I generally drove to Houston to visit my grandfather Greg's grave with my Dad, Ryan. This year was different, as Danni and the kids could join me for the first time, making it a family outing. I figured the kids were old enough, so I told them the story of my grandpa Greg on the way.

During World War II, Greg Jones served in the Army Air Corps as a radio operator on a B-17 Flying Fortress in the Pacific Theater. He was on one of those things the day Japan attacked Pearl Harbor. His aircraft was one of several on their way from California to the Philippines via Hawaii.

Laden with cans of gasoline, none of the aircraft had any guns mounted and were defenseless when they flew into the swarms of Japanese aircraft. Greg's plane made it to a remote landing field but was severely damaged before it set down.

Greg's station was destroyed, and his seat was riddled with bullets from Japanese fighters. But Greg somehow walked away from the aircraft without a scratch. That incident earned him the nickname "Lucky" Jones. His luck, however, seemed to run out in late 1943, and his aircraft was shot down. Along with the other survivors, he was taken captive by the Japanese and spent the rest of the war in a POW camp.

He was repatriated, promoted to Master Sergeant, and given a chest full of medals and his back pay. Then the Army gave him an honorable discharge and a hearty handshake. He went back to Indianapolis, but things there had changed considerably since he left in 1941.

My great-great-great-grandfather Jedediah and his brother Obadiah both died in 1943. They were well into their 80s. The family eventually sold the small chain of stores they had owned since the early 1830s to a growing national chain, dividing the proceeds among the family. The old house the family had owned since the 1850s was also sold to make room for "developments."

Greg took his share of the profits and moved to Texas, where he spent the next six years at the University of Texas. He earned a Master's Degree in Electronics Engineering, with a particular focus on radio communications. That's where he met the woman who would become my grandmother.

Greg worked for a rather large company for several years and eventually ended up at NASA, where he retired in 1985. He died a few years after retiring, and my grandmother followed him a couple years later.

I was very young when Greg died, so I didn't get the chance to know him very well. Dad said he rarely talked about the war and never spoke of his time in the POW camp. I did some research on that and shuddered at the accounts I read.

We finally arrived at the cemetery, so I parked the car and got out. I stretched my legs as Danni got the children out of the back seat. We walked, hand-in-hand, into the well-manicured cemetery and followed the concrete path to the grave site, where my father was already waiting for us.

"There ya are," Dad said with a smile as the children ran to greet him. He picked them up and gave them each a big hug and a kiss, then pulled out a caramel candy.

"You're spoiling them, Dad," I said as we hugged.

"Well, isn't that what granddads are for?" he asked. He gave Danni a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, which she returned.

"So, how's Mom doing?" I asked.

"She's doing alright, but her arthritis is acting up a bit and she's been pretty tired lately, so she stayed home to get some rest," Dad said. "She said to tell y'all she loves ya and she misses ya."

"Be sure to tell her we love her and miss her, too," I said.

"I will," Dad said. We planted flags and placed flowers on Grandpa's grave, then sat and listened to Dad tell us stories about growing up with his father.

"Will Grandpa Greg come visit us the way Grandpa Elijah does?" little Elizabeth asked.

"Oh, I reckon anything's possible," Dad said, giving me his famous "we need to talk" look. Danni noticed the look Dad gave me and intervened.

"Come on, kids, it's been a long day," she said, holding out her hands. The kids grabbed her hands and left for the visitor center to use the bathrooms. When they were out of earshot, Dad turned to me.

"Have they really seen your great grandfather?" he asked. I've never lied to Dad before, and I wasn't about to start now. I thought for a moment before answering.

"Yeah, Dad, they have. Several times. He comes by to visit with them, tell them stories," I said.

"But that's not all, is it?" Dad said. I shook my head.

"No, Dad, it's not," I said. Dad nodded his head as he thought.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not surprised," he said, pulling a small box from his pocket. "Dad gave me something the day I left for boot camp back in '78. 'Just in case,' he said. Then he told me something I never forgot. Claimed Grandpa Eli gave this to him the day he left Indianapolis for the war. Warned him he might face some hard times and promised him that justice was riding with him no matter what.

"Dad was convinced Grandpa Eli was watching over him, protecting him. He never told anyone about that. Grandpa Eli was your best man, wasn't he?"

"Yes, Dad, he was," I said. Dad chuckled as he nodded his head.

"I thought so," he said. "Your mother thought he looked awful familiar. Who was the woman with him?"

"That was Grandma Lizzy," I said. His eyes grew wide at that.

"Really? Who were those other fellows with him?"

"You'd never believe me, Dad," I said.

"I don't know. Try me," Dad said.

"Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, Bill Tilghman, Wild Bill Hickok, and Bill McDonald, one of the greatest Texas Ranger captains in history." I asked.

"Is that a fact?" Dad asked.

"Yes," I said. "In fact, Mom even danced with them." Dad laughed at that.

"Your mother actually danced with Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Doc Holliday and Wild Bill Hickok?" Dad asked.

"She sure did," I said. "Had a pretty good time, too, as I recall. You reckon I should tell her one of these days?"

"I think she'd get a kick out of that," Dad said. "But there's more to this story, isn't there?"

"Yes, Dad," I said. "A lot more. And before you ask, yes, Danni knows all about him. I'll tell you all about it one of these days."

"I look forward to that," he said. "Just do me a favor and don't wait too long," Dad said, wincing just a bit. "You know, son, I was going to put this on your grandfather's headstone. But after what you just told me, I think you should have it." He handed the box to me, and I opened it to see a small crucifix. I held it in my hand and looked on the back, where I saw the initials "EJ." I put it back in the box and slipped it into my pocket.

"Thank you, Dad," I said. "I appreciate it. I'm sure Grandpa would understand."

"I'm sure he would. He thought the world of you," Dad said, looking at Greg's headstone. Just then, Danni and the children returned.

"Well? Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Yes, everything is fine, sweetheart," I said. "I just told Dad about Grandpa Eli."

"I'll bet you have some pretty interesting conversations around the dinner table," Dad told her. Danni chuckled at that.

"Yes, you could say that. In fact, there's hardly a dull day around our place," she said. We talked for a bit longer, then Dad looked at his watch.

"I'd better get going," he said. "I promised your mother I'd be home in time for dinner." We exchanged hugs, said our goodbyes, then left for home. The children, worn out from the day's events, fell asleep almost as soon as we hit the road out of Houston.

...

"Well, what do you think?" Adrestia asked after Max placed a new portrait on her gallery wall. It was a picture of a woman sitting in a rocking chair as slimy worms with small shark-like maws lined with sharp teeth crawled up her legs. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was open in a silent, eternal scream.

"Reckon the right side needs ta come up jes' a titch," Eli said. Max looked at the portrait before adjusting it.

"You're right, Eli," Adrestia said. "But that's not what I was talking about. I was referring to Mr. Eastland. You saw him earlier. What's your assessment?"

"Boy's in a world of hurt," Eli said. "I'd like to get him outta there, take him someplace where he can get back on his feet. I'd take him to my refuge right now, but I honestly don't think he'd survive the transition," he added, his Texas accent all but gone. "He's nothing but skin and bone."

"You're right," Adrestia said. "So what do you suggest?"

"We need to get him outta there, legal and proper, then put some meat back on his bones," Eli said. Adrestia looked at him before responding.

"But to do that, you need to have something to show a judge," she said. "Something believable."

"Why don't I have Drake meet with him?" Max asked.

"You mean that apprentice of yers?" Eli asked.

"Yes," Max said. "He has some very interesting mental abilities."

"Really? Is he..."

"Immortal?" Adrestia asked, finishing Eli's question. "No, he hasn't progressed to that stage. At least not yet."

"So, what can he do?" Eli asked.

"For one thing, he can download Eastland's brain feed, and convert it to video. He can also pull enough info from that to legally nail the people abusing him," Max said.

"Brain feed?" Eli asked.

"Yes," Max told him. "Cameron Drake has the ability to download everything in a person's mind, then save it to computer. From there, he can search out all of Eastland's memories, provide video and even analyze the man's own thoughts."

"That sounds like it would take a while," Eli said. "I honestly don't think we have that much time."

"You're right," Adrestia said. "Dr. Skitz will keep Eastland alive as long as the insurance money comes in. But that is about to end pretty soon. The insurance company has just about paid the maximum on Eastland's policy for this year. When the money stops coming in, Skitz will end Eastland's daily regimen."

"So what do we do?" Eli asked.

"I'm in the middle of a couple cases right now, but I can make some time in the next day or so," Adrestia said. "I'm immortal, not omnipotent, after all. Max and I can get Cameron on board and we'll make a... wellness visit... to Mr. Eastland. I'll give him something that will hopefully help him survive the trip to your refuge and Mr. Drake will get his brain feed."

"Then what?" Eli asked.

"Talk to your grand-daughter-in-law," Adrestia said. "She still has close ties to Judge Stone. Let her know the situation. Maybe she can get the judge to issue an order releasing Eastland into your custody."

"And if she can't?" Eli asked.

"Then we'll free him without it," Adrestia said.

...

The children were still asleep when we pulled into our driveway. I helped Danni get them settled into bed after a helping of leftover lasagna, then checked on the horses. I filled up their water trough, made sure they had enough hay, and went back to the house when I heard a familiar neigh. Looking around, I saw Grandpa Eli riding up to me. He stopped, climbed off his horse, and tied it to the hitching post in front of the house.

"Everything alright, Grandpa?" I asked. "We just put the kids to bed. Had a long day going to Houston."

"Visit yer Grandpa Greg's headstone?" Grandpa asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"I understand you tol' yer pa about me," Grandpa said quietly.

"Yes," I said. "It kinda just came out." He smiled and nodded his head.

"Ah understand, son. Kids can say some of the darnedest things at times, can't they?"

"They sure can, Grandpa," I said, laughing. "Dad gave me something today," I said, reaching into my pocket. I pulled out the box with the crucifix and showed it to Grandpa. "Says you gave it to my Grandpa Greg right before World War II."

"Sure did, son," Grandpa said. "Yer grandpa went through hell in that war. Ah wanted ta make sure he got back home safe. I'm mighty glad yer pa gave that to ya. You hang onto it, y'hear me?"

"I will," I said. "So, what brings you by this evening?"

"I need to talk to you and Danni about a case I'm working on," Eli said. I noticed that his accent was gone and realized this was something serious.

"Of course. We'll do whatever we can to help," I said. "C'mon in." Grandpa followed me into the house and gave Danni a hug. "Care for a beer?" I asked.

"Of course, son," Grandpa said. I grabbed three beers from the refrigerator and motioned for Grandpa and Danni to follow me to the back porch. When we got there, I pulled out the small metal case Grandpa had given me and offered him a cigarette, which he readily accepted. I pulled one for myself and lit both our cigarettes.