Justice or Revenge?

It was all the same. Since his grandfather's time nothing had ever changed. The way people looked at them when they walked in a store. The stares of disgust when they would pick up an item. How dare they want to read a label. Don't they know exactly what to buy so they can get in and back out of the store?

He decided he was sick of it. All his friends were too. They started meeting on Friday nights Matty's house. Ideas and dreams for the future were the topic of discussion over dinner. In time the group grew too big for Matty’s small room. Soon they found themselves meeting at the abandoned train station. They developed into a tight knit gang.

Tensions started to increase around town, with names and slurs uttered from every mouth. Anytime one of their kind walked on the sidewalk they had to be careful. If one of the others happened to walk by, an "accident" would happen and someone would get hurt. James had to keep his head down, all of them did. Who knew where these escalations were heading.

One morning James awoke to his mother calling down to his basement bedroom from the first floor. Rolling out of bed, he clambered across the room and jerked some clothes on. It was never clean in the basement, but at least it stayed comfortable and dry. Mostly. He ascended the stairs to his mother's hail and looked into the kitchen to see his mother crying. Tears streaked her face as she looked up at him. Oh no. Something serious had happened.

He looked to his father, the strong man who never shed a tear, whose cheeks were wet with drops of pain. James could see the sides of his fathers' eyes glistening. As he walked over to comfort his mother, she said, "Oh James honey, grandpa Mason got ran over last night. Nobody is fessing up to who did it. Mr. Wilkin told your papa that he can’t have any time off to grieve for his father.”

Rage. Complete dirty rage coursed through his veins like he had never felt before. He gently pushed away from his mother, glanced at his stressed father, then stormed out of the house. Hopping onto his bike, the young man knew he had to get away. Something needed to happen. Someone needed to pay for this loss. Pedalling as fast as he could, he ended up at the old rail yard. When he was ten, he had discovered it was only a few minutes away on his bike. He threw the bike down and stormed into the building. The chairs were set up around the fire pit they used at the secret meetings. He picked one up and threw it full force at the block wall. The wooden chair broke a couple legs and bounced across the floor. That wasn’t enough. That didn’t ease the pain. He wanted to hurt someone. Maybe kill someone. James sat in a chair and cried, his sobs and convulsions revealing the depth of pain and anger in his heart.

A few days passed and rumors started to surface about the death of his grandpa. The police said they had leads but no suspects. James and his family began to worry the crime of his grandfather’s death would go unpunished. Even if the police knew who it was they’d never come clean. The whole town was corrupt. The Friday meeting was coming up and James knew exactly what he had to say. A plan had to be formulated. Maybe the rest of the gang could help with what he wanted to do. James had done some investigating that it seemed to him the police were unwilling to do. While Mr. Wilkin was at work, James snuck behind his house and saw the horror of dried blood and bits of hair stuck on the front bumper of Mr. Wilkin’s old black truck. It was clear to him who had committed the crime.

At the Friday meeting, the discussion was all about James’ grandfather. The group was in solidarity, change was coming regardless of who got hurt. They decided to buy matching outfits and masks to cover their faces. Most likely they would all get blamed for it, but that was fine by them if it meant the murderer received his due. The plan was obvious. Mr. Wilkin had to pay.

They allowed a few weeks to pass. The police had pushed the whole investigation under the rug. James’ family was working through the emotional toll grandpa’s death had brought. James was avoiding everyone. He silently attended school, and when at home he was in his room. The rage seething through his veins was becoming normal for him. Anger exploded when he talked to anyone except his friends. They knew the plan. They knew his pain. He could trust them with his life, and knew that he might have to. The day was coming up when they would bring their plan to fruition. The friends wanted it to appear the accident had been forgotten. Or at the least forgiven. None of them were going to forgive this.

It was the time of a Friday night meeting when they struck. James took his grandfather’s old Buick and put several cans of gasoline in the trunk. The gang arrived at Mr. Wilkin’s house in a handful of cars. Each wearing matching attire, they got out and began to spread the gasoline around the yard, house, and barn. They were being quiet to not wake anyone in the house as they barricaded the doors and windows. Once the gas was poured the gang retreated to the cars with the silence of cats and drove away.. James left a trail of gasoline as he walked away from the house. This was so he could be away from the inferno, and also to keep vehicle noise to a minimum. He drove away as the fire licked up the gas and traced its way all over the property. Soon the area was ablaze and the light from the fire could be seen from town. James watched from a hill that overlooked the town as the fire trucks tried to get through their blockade. The cars his friends had used for the heist had been appropriated from Mr. Wilkin’s friends.

News came to James about the night’s events as the morning light was breaking the horizon. Not a single member of the Wilkin family had survived that night. The information did not bring peace to James or his friends. The burning anger and unrelenting pain had not diminished in James at all. Police began doing investigations, and over the coming days he heard nothing about them finding any leads. It was possible his plan had gone off without a hitch. Real change might come about soon. A week after the fire, James’ father was relieved of his job. The new company manager was restructuring the business.

One afternoon after school, James’ mother said they had been invited to a Sunday dinner at their church. The segregation of their town meant all the blacks went to one church. As everyone arrived for the dinner, his stomach dropped at the realization they were all here. In one place for the first time since his grandfather’s death. Once the last member of the community had entered the church, the doors were locked from the outside. Panic started to spread through the crowd. James and his gang gathered together as the realization that someone knew about the fire crept into their minds.There was no way out of this building. No windows, and only two entrances. Gunfire erupted from outside. Bullets ripped through the walls, through the doors, and through the panicked innocents. Smoke started to creep in under the doors, and it became evident that the church fellowship hall had been set on fire. The blaze was larger than the one that had claimed the Wilkin family, it could be seen across town at the fire department as the firemen looked on. This was not the change James had envisioned.