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:
- Characters in this story may participate in one or more of the following: Smoking, consumption of adult (meaning, alcoholic) beverages, utterance of profanities.
- All sexual activity is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.
- 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.