“As long as it takes,” Vic replied.
“You know…” the nurse glanced at Ellie. “Sometimes she moans, like she’s trying to say something. The doctors say it’s just reflexes. But I think she hears us. Talk to her.”
Vic nodded. The nurse left. He leaned closer to his daughter and whispered:
“Hang in there, Ellie. Dad’s home. I’m going to take care of it. I promise.”
He left the hospital after dark. The city was lit up—yellow windows in the suburbs, neon signs downtown, the sweep of headlights.
Vic leaned against a brick wall and lit a cigarette. He pulled out Ellie’s notebook and read the entries again.
Slowly this time, absorbing every detail. Oliver. Met him at a club called ‘The Vault.’ Handsome, wealthy.
He’d invited her for coffee. Then to a house party. Ryan, Tony, and Isaac were there.
They gave her a drink. Too much. Everything went blurry.
I only remember the pain. I woke up—my clothes were torn, I felt sick. They were laughing.
They filmed it on a camcorder. Oliver said: if you tell anyone, we’ll show everyone. Your mom, your boss, the whole town.
Then came the fragments. Dates, meetings, threats. She tried to run—they caught her.
She tried to go to the police. Ryan’s dad was a Captain. The case was buried before it started.
No way out. The last entry: “I’m tired of being afraid. I just want it to be quiet.”
Vic closed the notebook. He flicked his lighter, but then stopped. No, this was evidence. For him.
To remember every name. He hailed a cab, an old Ford Crown Vic.
“Where to?”
“The West Side docks.”
There, in the back of a gritty sports bar, sat his old friend Charlie, nicknamed “The Cat.” Charlie dealt in information. He knew everyone in the city who moved money or dirt.
Charlie met Vic with a firm handshake.
“Vic. Heard you were back. How was the stay?”
“Same as always.”
“Listen, Charlie, I need info. Four names. Oliver, Ryan, Tony, Isaac. Young, rich, hang out at ‘The Vault.’”
Charlie’s eyes narrowed.
“What’s the play?”
“My daughter is in the ICU.”
“They’re responsible.”
Charlie went quiet for a moment, then nodded.
“Give me two days. I’ll find out who they are and who they’re hiding behind. But Vic, you know the score. These kids… they’ve got armor. You hit them, the world hits back.”
Vic’s smile was cold and hollow.
“The world already hit me.”
“Now it’s their turn.” For two days, Vic waited. He visited Ellie, sat by her bed, held her hand, and talked to her about the old days—about how she used to catch fireflies in the backyard.
The doctors just shook their heads. Her vitals were stable, but she was still under. The coma held her fast.
At night, Vic stood on his mother’s porch, watching the city lights. He was a machine now, calculating. You don’t rush a job like this.
Revenge isn’t an outburst; it’s a chess match. You need to know where they live, what they fear, and where they’re soft. On May 3rd, Charlie called.
His voice was flat and professional.
