Justice

Jack Nugent had protested his innocence from his arrest, right through his trial and right up until the moment that he was hung.

It was 1961 and although Jack had known it was all over the minute the judge had placed the black cap on his wig, he still hadn’t been able to give up hope entirely.

Prison had changed him.

Jack had been a happy, go lucky type, often smiling and charming. His optimism and bright side of life outlook had served him well.

Right up until he’d fallen for, and then married Wendy.

A beautiful, wild, free spirit, he’d fallen for her like a ton of bricks.

Ignoring everyone’s warnings about how flighty she was he’d rushed her down the aisle so fast her feet hadn’t touched the ground.

Within a year reality had snatched the blinkers from his eyes. Wendy was selfish, narcissistic and completely self-absorbed.

They’d been married less than a month when he’d come home from work earlier than usual to find her in bed with the man who was fitting their new kitchen. Unapologetic, she’d thrown on the silky kimono that he’d bought her on their honeymoon, lit a cigarette and explained that she had needs.

“I like variety Jack. That’s not to say you aren’t a decent lover, I enjoy sex with you, but I can’t see myself having only one man for the rest of my life.”

Jack had raged at her, screamed, smashed her favourite ornaments and thrown her clothes into a suitcase.

Unconcerned, Wendy had picked it up and wheeled it to the hall.

“If I leave, I will never return Jack. Be very certain of what you are doing today.”

Jack had unravelled. His heart felt as though it would shatter into a million pieces without her. With tears pouring down his face he’d begged her to stay. Wendy had stroked his hair and held him to her breast. She’d taken him up to their room and they’d had the most explosive night he’d ever known.

He’d liked to have said that was the end of it, but Wendy had been entirely honest with him. She craved variety and Jack had found himself turning a blind eye to every infidelity, but each time that he did a small part of him died. The sparkle in his green eyes faded, his smile wasn’t as ready, and a dark cynicism leaked into his once bright outlook.

Friends and family begged him to leave her, but Jack was a man obsessed. The more she cheated the more he believed he could change her with his devotion.

Then came Bobby St Claire. Bobby was married to Helen and after meeting at a mutual friend’s garden party they’d become close friends of the Nugents.

By now Jack knew the signs and was painfully aware of exactly when Wendy had started screwing Bobby. He saw the looks they exchanged when they thought no-one was watching and the way they brushed hands as they passed each other.

They grew reckless. At one dinner party Jack became aware that Bobby had run his hand up Wendy’s dress and was caressing her thigh as they sat next to their respective spouses.

Jack had patiently waited for it to end. Wendy’s attention span was short and the longest she’d taken a lover for was a month with most being over within a week.

When three months had passed without signs of boredom from either cheater Jack had seen the light go out in Helen. Her once proud and elegant posture was now replaced by slumped shoulders and a head that was always dipped low. Her nails looked bitten and raw, and her laugh was brittle and sharp.

Jack tried to raise it with Wendy, but she brushed him away as she would an annoying puppy.

“I’m having fun Jack. Don’t be such a spoil sport. It’s not as though I deprive you in the bedroom, is it?”

To Wendy that was all there was to it. There was no heart in a relationship, no love and affection or respect, it was all about sex and gratifying her own needs.

The day that Jack’s life changed forever he’d returned from work to see Bobby’s car parked outside. Grimacing at the thought of being friendly with the man fucking his wife he almost turned around and went to the pub. Almost. That thought had stayed with him. The worst “what if.”

What if he’d have gone to the pub without even going into the house? What if when he’d gone and in and found the house silent, he’d turned around and left? What if he’d never gone upstairs?

Of course, that was all great with hindsight, Jack had thought bitterly.

He had gone into his house that day.

Greeted by an echoing silence he’d dropped his briefcase in the hall and without bothering to remove his shoes had run up the stairs. He had no idea why he’d done that. Since the first time he’d avoided catching Wendy in the act but for some reason, that day, he’d bounded up the stairs. He’d not even hesitated when he’d reached the top, he barrelled through the door to their room and only stopped moving when he was stood at the end of their King size bed.

Bobby wasn’t humping his wife; they weren’t even lying in the warm afterglow of sex. Bobby was dead. Jack was sure that even if the bullet hole through his right eye hadn’t killed him the beating he’d taken probably would’ve.

Blood was pooled around what remained of his head. Jack was fairly sure he could see grey brain matter against the pillows. The sheets had been thrown back and Bobby was naked as the day he was born. Strangely Jack felt a perverse sting of pleasure at the pitiful sight of Bobby’s penis curled back into his thighs like a small reluctant animal hiding from a predator.

There was no sign of Wendy or anyone else for that matter and eventually the calm that the shock had bought began to fade. Beginning to feel the first flashes of panic Jack realised how this was going to look.

A missing wife, her dead lover and the only person in the room was the cuckold husband. There was a moment when he considered running. Packing what he could and getting the hell out of dodge. Maybe he could change his name, start again?

The sensible voice told him that was ridiculous, and Jack agreed. Shutting the door on the gruesome scene he’d calmly called 999 and reported the death. He’d sat patiently in the living room until he’d seen the blue flashing lights outside the house.

Despite his explanations Jack wasn’t entirely surprised when the police arrested him and took him to the station. A man who still believed in fairness and honesty, he was sure that when he’d had time to state his case, they’d find he was telling the truth and go looking for the real killer.

Of course, that didn’t happen. Jack was charged and the police looked no further.

Had they checked they’d have found the train ticket that showed that he came home when he’d said he had.

They’d have spoken to Mrs White across the road who had seen Wendy running from the house an hour before Jack had bounced up the drive.

But they didn’t do any of that.

Instead, Jack was found guilty, first in the court of public opinion in the papers and then in the crown court.

The judge had placed the black cap over his wig and pronounced that Jack would be hanged by the neck until dead.

Prison had been a harsh and unrelenting experience for a man who had previously not known violence. The constant fear, the fighting, the shouting and the beatings he heard, saw and endured personally, broke the last of Jack.

By the time his sentence was carried out Jack was dark and bitter. Angry at a world that had wronged him.

And when a spirit departs this world with those emotions there’s no peaceful passing over, there’s only hate, and darkness, and a thirst for revenge.